Purgatory
by Cirocco
Summary: Companion piece to It Might Not Be A Pretty Picture. Chapters 8-9 from Rey's POV.
1. Perjury

CHAPTER V: HOME 

_Day 9_

_Wednesday, December 31_

Lying here hour after hour.  No more drugs, the doctor doesn't want him addicted, but it sure would've been nice if they'd kept him on whatever he was getting yesterday.  Addiction be damned.

Nothing to do in this damn place except wish he were dead.  Prison suicide watch - that means they watch while you commit suicide, Lennie said that once.  His watch would probably like that.  Except for one guard who was on shift last night, who talked to him for a while.  He couldn't follow much because he was still a bit drugged, but the guy seemed nice enough.  Told Rey where he'd be in case he needed anything.  Said something about a shrink coming to see him the day after tomorrow.  Apparently today is New Year's Eve.  No regular staff until January 2.

Salar's yacking again.  Somebody shut him up, please.

At least if he was dead he wouldn't feel so much pain, wouldn't have to work so hard to not think about how much he misses his wife and children.  How desperately he wants all of this to end.  How much he now wishes he'd cut deeper and actually meant to kill himself.  He's willing to die for his family, but he's no longer willing to live for them - not here, and not like this.

Chen's being released and sent back to his block.  No more yellow jello.

That Judge... she's not gonna let him out.  It's just Father Morelli's word she's got to go on.  She's not gonna let him out.  He's here for six years at least - more, if he can't make parole.  With Rico.  Without Deborah and their girls.

Six years.  With Rico Gonzalez.

He won't make it.  He doesn't want to.

My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me, Christ said on the cross.  Even Christ felt the loss of God's love, felt despair.  He thought he'd felt it before too in the last few years, but never as bad as this.

He's asked for painkillers so many times.  No, you don't need them, he's told.

Sleeping meds, then.  Sedatives.  Anything.

No, you don't need them.

Anything, anything, legal or illegal, to take him out of here.  There's no point asking the staff, but the orderlies might be another story.  Maybe at the next meal.  There's good inmate thinking - drug it all away.  He was already doing it even before he came in, but if he had the chance now he sure wouldn't stop at pot.

You used to be a cop, he had reminded Tim.  Emphasis on the 'used to be', Tim had answered.

When it gets really bad, he thinks of Deborah's voice and that gets him through for a little bit.  He can't do it too much though, because inevitably that turns into a hopeless aching longing to hear her voice for real, not just in his head.

An inmate is brought in sobbing hysterically - the young blond he came in with.  He's been gang-raped, no surprise there.  Nurses handle him impersonally, set a suicide watch for him too, and sedate him out of his agony.

"Two watches at once," the guard grumbles, "They don't pay me enough.  Goddamn paperwork."  He takes a seat next to Rey's bed and starts to fill in a report.

"Both pillow biters?" asks one of the guards who brought the blond in.

"Yeah, probably," answers the infirmary guard absently, writing quickly.  "That one's a cutter too," he jerks his head towards Rey.  Pillow biter, a prison term for rape victim.  Biting down on a pillow to keep from crying out as they're brutalized.

"That's the cutter from Block H?" the other guard glances at Rey curiously.  Like a museum specimen, not a human being.  He's awake and no longer drugged into incomprehension, but he might as well be a piece of furniture as the guards continue to talk over him.  "I heard Johnson was ripshit.  He'll be filling out paperwork on that one till the cows come home.  So much for his promotion," the two guards share a derisive laugh.

"Yeah, and now he's got blondie here, another Block H success story," the infirmary guard comments.

"That kid better get himself a Daddy real fast," the other guard nods towards the unconscious blond, chuckling humourlessly.  "He ain't doing real good as a party favour."

"Yeah, well the other one has a Daddy," the infirmary guard says, "I heard he dissed him, and here he is.  Guess he didn't like gettin' in touch with his feminine side," he chuckles, still writing.  "Bet he's in for a real romantic homecoming when he goes back."

"He's Rico's boy though, huh?" The infirmary guard grunts a confirmation.  "That's not a lot better'n being block-candy.  Jeez, somebody oughtta do something about that sicko.  Ain't this the third or fourth punk he's landed in here?"

"Sure, somebody oughtta do something.  You gonna do the paperwork on it?"  The other guard shrugs, conceding the point.  "Besides," the infirmary guard adds, "You couldn't prove he's any worse'n anybody else.  He just plays a little rough and messes with their heads is all, it's not like he's cuttin' off arms or nothin'."

God, please, if You're there at all... make this end.  I've had enough.

Let me die, please, let me die.

Forgive me, forgive my selfish weakness for not wanting to stay alive for the sake of the family You entrusted me with.  Forgive me.  I can't.  Forgive me for not being able to bear the cross You gave me.  You never give us more than we can bear, if we just have enough faith.  Forgive me for my lack of faith.

Forgive my sins and let me die.

Forgive my sins against my wife, my children.  Forgive me for hurting them so many times, sinning against them in so many ways, being willing to hurt them again just to spare myself this.

Forgive me for causing my mother's death, for being so weak that she took her own life rather than add to my burdens.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all my failures.

O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who are all-good and deserving of all my love.

Forgive me for not even being able to finish the Act of Contrition because I can't firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more.  Suicide is a sin that I would commit right now if only I could.  I can't live like this.  Forgive me, please, have mercy on me and let me die.

Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever.

Deliver me from this.  Have mercy on me.  For once, hear my prayers.  Let me die.

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.  Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

And let that hour come soon.

Please let me die.

===

Hours later, Jack and Lennie walk into the infirmary and despite Jack's warning, Lennie draws his breath in sharply at the sight of Rey on the bed.  He looks awful, tortured, pale, unshaven, dark shadows under his closed eyes.

"Rey."

Rey opens his eyes.  Lennie.  Jack.  What are they doing in Hell?

"The Judge made her ruling.  She set aside the verdict," Jack informs him.

That doesn't make sense.

"What's that mean?"

"You're free to go," Lennie says gently.

That doesn't make sense either.  "I'm free to go?" he repeats.

"Yeah," Lennie nods.  Free to go.  It's like they're talking a foreign language.  Besides, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

"There gonna be another trial?"

"No," Jack smiles.  "You've been declared not guilty.  Silcox says he won't appeal."

Not guilty.  Hold on.  "What about Serena?"

"No charges are being laid against her.  Your mother's death has been ruled a suicide."

What other catch could there be?

None.

This is... what should he feel about it?  What does he feel?  Numb, mostly.  Like it isn't really real.  He closes his eyes.

"It's over?"

"Yeah.  It's over," Lennie tells him.

That means... that means he can be with his family again.  With Deborah and the girls.  "Where's Deborah?" he finally asks.

"She's waiting for you at home.  We need to get some paperwork done here, get the infirmary to give you some prescriptions for the pain and for that forearm cut - it looks like it got a bit infected.  Then they'll give you back your personal effects and release you," Jack explains.

"She gonna be there when I get home?"  Not just a voice in his head, not just the memory of her that hurts as much as it heals.

"Yeah.  So will your kids," Lennie adds.

"She gonna stay this time?"

There's a brief silence.  "I think that's a fair bet," Jack says, his voice very low.

They're quiet for a moment, giving Rey time to process what's going on.  He's emotionally numb, too exhausted and in too much physical pain to really feel much else.  Finally he opens his eyes, indicating that he's with them again.

"You need to sign this," Jack shows him a piece of paper.  Rey moves his right hand, forgetting it's still attached to the bedrail.  Winces.

"I can't."  The cuff's too short to allow enough movement to write.

"OK, I'll get somebody to unlock that," Jack hurries off.

Rey turns onto his right side, the only direction he can turn.  At least he can go on his side now - he was flat on his back for the first 24 hours, an IV in his left hand, the cuff on the right.  Hurt like hell when he forgot and tried to turn either way.  Good thing he was so doped up he wasn't able to feel much discomfort for the first twenty hours or so.

Jack returns with a nurse, who's vehemently protesting his request.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir, not until we get a paper from the Warden saying he's no longer in custody."

"He's been declared not guilty!  I have that paper right here, signed by the Judge!"

"I don't care if the paper says he's been declared to be the second coming of Christ, signed by God, he is in custody until we get a notice from the Warden.  And until we do, he stays in restraints.  That's policy.  This is a maximum security institution," she explains that last slowly, speaking to Jack as if he were a particularly dull child.

"This is ludicrous!  He has to sign these papers, and he can't if he can't even move his hand!"

"Are you seriously gonna give us red tape over this?  Just gimme the key, I'll do it if you're so damn afraid of him," Lennie speaks up.  He's getting pissed off too, his shock at seeing Rey so sickly turning into anger at seeing Rey still handcuffed to the bed like a common criminal.  It was hard enough to take having his ex-partner treated like some lowlife perp before, when Rey was legitimately an inmate, convicted by his own words in a court of law.  It's intolerable watching him be treated like a dangerous animal that needs to be tied up when he's already been cleared of the crime.  Especially when he doesn't look like he can even stand up, let alone pose any kind of threat to anybody.

Rey closes his eyes, wishing everybody would just stop arguing.  This is giving him a headache.

"You don't have the authority, sir-" the nurse begins.

"I'm a cop.  I deal with real criminals and most of them are a little livelier than this.  And I've got insurance, I'll take the risk," Lennie says sarcastically.  "Gimme the damn key."

"Sir, it's not just our safety we have to be concerned about," the doctor has now joined the fray, "He's on suicide watch and he's under our care.  We can't release him, we'd be liable for-"

"We're all right here!" Lennie exclaims, exasperated, "Who do you think he is, Houdini?  Think he's gonna try anything with four of us standing right next to him?  Would you just unlock this damn thing?"

"His guard is doing a walkabout and under no circumstances is an inmate to be unrestrained without a guard right next to him while on watch in the infirmary.  The regulations are quite clear on that," the nurse stands her ground.

"So how is he supposed to sign the papers I need to take to the Warden to get him officially released?" Jack demands.

"Oh for god's sake," mutters Rey, not bothering to open his eyes, "Why don't you just cuff my left hand, release my right, let me sign the damn thing, then everybody's happy."  He can't believe that in a roomful of people, he, still groggy from sedatives and blood loss, is the only one who seems capable of figuring out something so damn simple.

There's a brief silence.

"He shouldn't be restrained at all," begins Jack, and the doctor draws a breath to argue with him again.

Rey wearily interrupts before they can go at it again.  "Jack, save your breath, I don't give a damn.  If I have to spend a couple more hours locked to the bed, who cares.  Just let me sign the damn paper."

The nurse nods reluctantly, sure that there must be something wrong with Rey's solution, and moves forward to change the cuffs.  Rey signs and turns onto his left side, closing his eyes again.  He's so tired, and his arms and ribs hurt so much...

Lennie hears his low gasp of pain as he rolls over, and looks at him, concerned.  He settles into a chair next to the bed while Jack goes to find the Warden.

"They not giving you anything for the pain?"

"I mighta been on morphine or something yesterday, but they don't like to give too much 'cause it's addictive.  They cut back as soon as they can," Rey says weakly, eyes closed.

"I think you still need whatever they were giving you," Lennie notes beads of sweat on Rey's forehead, mouth set in a grim line.  He looks like he's hurting pretty badly.

"I'll live," he says, his voice toneless.

"This is one hell of a suicide watch.  They leave you alone for hours on end, in pain and cuffed to the bed?"

"I'm a con, remember?  Doesn't matter how I feel.  They just need to keep me alive, not comfortable," he opens his eyes and notices brown something dulling the gold of his wedding ring.  Dried blood.  Guess they didn't clean it all off.  He idly wonders how they cleaned the rest of him - as far as he can remember, he was soaked in blood from head to toe.  Probably sponged him off while he was unconscious.  He doesn't envy the orderly that got that job.

"Still."

"Whatever," Rey mutters, thinking it's a pretty minor thing to get upset over, considering everything else that goes on behind the barbed wire.  "You expect them to hold my hand and sing me lullabies just 'cause I cut myself?"  He pulls the ring off and rubs it, trying to get the blood off.  Lennie suddenly realizes what he's doing and offers to help, going to wash off the ring while Rey rubs at the dried blood on his ring finger.  Ugh.  Must have been drenched in blood.

A while later, Jack comes back.  "OK, everything's signed, we have your clothes-"

"Until he's signed the property releases, he wears State Issue," says the guard.

"That's ridiculous, he's not an inmate any more."

"Until he signs for his personal effects, he is.  He has to go claim his personal items from his cell, then go to Storage, then sign for his effects, then he can change.  Until he does all of that he's still an inmate."

"I don't want anything from my cell," Rey puts in weakly.

"You still have to go look.  Regulations."

"That's ridiculous-" Jack begins.

"No fucking con walks around this institution in civvies," the guard says, jutting out his jaw.

Jack gathers his breath to give him a thorough tirade, but Rey interrupts him again.  "Jack, give it a rest, OK?  I don't care.  Let's just get this over with."

"Fine," Jack concedes, realizing that what he's taking to be affronts to Rey's dignity are really not making much of an impression on Rey.  Which is probably only natural.  Cuffs and prison tans are pretty minor affronts to your dignity compared to repeated sexual assaults and attempted rapes in the full view and with the full approval of the other inmates and even the prison authorities who are supposed to be protecting you.  He bites his tongue, determined to just get Rey out of here as quickly as possible.

The guard approaches and unlocks Rey's left hand, placing a pile of tans on the bed.  Rey sits up slowly, rubbing his wrist and closing his eyes in dizziness.

"Are you OK?" Lennie asks, concerned at his pallor.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.  Gimme a minute."

"OK.  You need help getting dressed?" Jack asks.

"No thanks... just privacy, OK?"  No sense having Lennie see the bruises covering his torso.  They're probably worse now, he doesn't know and doesn't care to look.  Just then the doctor shows up to give him the prescriptions and do a final check-up before releasing him.

There's no curtain around the bed, so Lennie and Jack settle for just leaving the room while Rey is seen by the doctor and changes.  They return about fifteen minutes later to find him lying on the bed, back in the State Issue and exhausted.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, just tired," Rey mutters, eyes closed.

"You look worn out."

"I lost a lotta blood.  And I've been lying down for almost two days.  And they really snowed me with sedatives," Rey swallows, feeling ill.  "Plus they made me take my pills in the morning instead of at night."

"I'm surprised you're awake at all, then," Lennie remembers how Rey's medication wiped him out for days when he first started taking it, and that was when he took it at night.

"Are you going to be able to walk to your cell?" Jack asks.  Rey thinks for a minute, then shakes his head in defeat.

"No.  No way.  It's too far."

"OK.  I'll see if they have a wheelchair," Jack moves off.  Lennie stays next to the bed, gazing at Rey worriedly.  Rey looks like he's been to Hell and back... although Lennie's not too sure about the 'and back' part.

"What?" Rey asks, taking in his frown.

"Jack told me it was bad... he didn't say how bad.  Are you gonna be OK?"

"I dunno, Lennie, I don't have a lot of experience with how long it takes to recover from slitting your wrists.  That's probably a good thing, yeah?" he jokes weakly, and Lennie smiles.

Jack returns with the wheelchair and Lennie helps Rey down off the bed.  As the guard locks Rey to the wheelchair, Jack opens his mouth to protest again.

"Don't even start with me, pal," the guard says irately, "Regs say any time cons are moved from one area to another with only one guard the cuffs go on.  It makes my job more of a pain in the ass than it has to be, but some pencil pusher in Albany decided last year that that was the new policy in Max and so we all gotta do it.  Don't blame me."

"He's just doing his job, Jack," puts in Rey wearily.  "And I told you I don't care, I'm used to it."

"Yeah, listen to your friend.  Besides, he's just getting a taste of his own medicine, right, Detective?  He knew what he was getting into.  If he didn't want this, maybe he mighta thought twice before committing a crime, doncha think?"

"He's been cleared!" Jack exclaims indignantly.

"That just means some legal eagle got him declared not guilty, which ain't the same as innocent.  You know how many of these assholes get declared not guilty every week?" Rey gives Jack a warning look before he can argue and cause any more delays.

Lennie and Jack trade a glance, the same thought occurring to both of them.  Rey's on record now as having been accused and convicted of murder.  The guard isn't the only person who'll assume that the reversal of the verdict is just another example of the legal system failing.  Not guilty isn't the same as innocent.

As they're waiting for the guard to hand in some papers and rejoin them, a young blond patient starts shrieking hoarsely and a nurse quickly approaches and sticks him with a needle.  He falls back into unconsciousness almost immediately.  Lennie sees Rey watching the patient with an unreadable expression on his face, then swallowing hard and crossing himself.

"You know him?"

"Not really, no," Rey says quietly, turning away.  "He was on my block."

"What's he in for?"  Rey shrugs.

A few minutes later, they're on their way out to Block H.  Rey rests his head on his free hand, dizzy and disoriented, thinking that it's a good thing it's the middle of work-up; he wouldn't relish the thought of going back into the block in the middle of social hour.  There'll probably only be a few inmates about, which is fine by him.  He doesn't particularly care to have Jack and Lennie see the fine folks he's been living with for the last week; he really can't take building up any more pity points with these two.  The security situation has done quite enough in that department.

As they move down a corridor, a guard escorting two inmates passes by and one of the inmates stops.  "Curtis.  Hey hey, you're looking a hell of a lot better," he grins widely and Lennie winces.  If this is better, he'd hate to think what Rey looked like before.

"Thanks," Rey smiles up at Stephens.   He didn't think he'd be able to say goodbye to him, since Stephens wasn't on shift at the infirmary today.

"I heard you're outta here."

"Yeah."  It's true - prison gossip does travel faster than light.

"Congratulations.  Some guys have all the luck," Stephens grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth and clears his throat, embarrassed.  "Christ man, I'm sorry.  That's a fucked up thing to say to you after the last couple days."  Rey shrugs, don't worry about it.  "Sorry.  Anyway.  Too bad we won't be on shift together any more - it was nice working with somebody who actually had a work ethic."

"Thanks.  Sorry to leave you short-staffed again."

"Ah, no problem.  I'm used to it.  Hey, I'd shake your hand goodbye, but, uh," he shakes his cuffs and smiles ruefully.  Rey chuckles and rattles his own cuff against the side of the wheelchair.

"Yeah, same here.  It's the thought that counts."

"Isn't this your favourite duty, Piper?" Stephens jokes to Rey's guard.  "Helping a jailbird fly the coop?"

"Nobody likes a smartass, Stephens," Piper says good-naturedly.

"Let's go, gentlemen," Stephens' guard says impatiently and Rey clears his throat.

"Stephens, uh... thanks for... thanks for everything."

"No problem," Stephens smiles warmly.  "You take care of yourself."

"Yeah.  You too," Rey has a thoughtful expression on his face as Stephens and the other inmate are led away.

"Who was that?" Jack asks.

"Stephens, I don't know his first name.  He's an orderly.  I worked with him a couple of shifts."

"You were an orderly?" asks Lennie.  He realizes he hadn't really thought much about how Rey spent his days in prison, other than trying to avoid Rico Gonzalez.

"Yeah, it got me outta the cell block.  I think he also took care of me for most of the time I was out of it."  He seems to remember Stephens' voice through a lot of the haze of the last two days.

"Yeah, he did," Piper confirms.  "He's a pretty good guy, compared to mosta you worthless humps."  Jack starts to bristle and Rey makes a sound in his throat and gives Jack a look.  Please don't start.

"What's he in for?" Lennie asks curiously.  Piper snorts and Rey smiles slightly.

"Killing a cop."

Lennie and Jack glance at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Did he know you were-"

"Everybody knew, Lennie.  It just didn't make any difference to Stephens."  Funny thing, that.  A cop-killer, the highest of the high in the prison hierarchy, and he'd been decent and kind to an ex-cop, pretty much the lowest of the low.

As they arrive at Block H, Jack can't suppress a low 'Oh my god!' at the amount of blood all over Rey's cell.  The floor outside the cell has been mopped, but the mopping very obviously stops at the entrance to the cell.  There's a large stain on the floor and spatters on the walls, bars and bunk beds.  A middle-aged black man looks up in surprise from the bottom bunk as Rey is brought into the cell.

"Harris?  What the hell, why didn't anybody clean this up?" Rey asks, glancing around the cell, profoundly disturbed.  He remembers a lot of blood, but it's something else seeing it like this.

"It's the maid's year off.  How come you're outta the infirmary?  Shouldn't you be on suicide watch?"

"No, I've been released.  You mean you gotta live in the cell like this?"

"I coulda cleaned it myself, but I was waiting for you to come back.  I figured you made the mess, you could clean it up.  And I didn't wanna catch anything."

"I don't have anything to catch.  And I'm sorry, man, I'm leaving.  I'm not gonna be able to clean it up."

"What, you finally going to Seg?"

"No, I'm going home."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah.  My verdict was overturned."

"No shit."  Harris seems only mildly surprised.  "Wow.  Congratulations, I guess."

"Thanks."

"Hey, uh, I'm sorry about... you know, the day that, uh... I just, I mean, I didn't have a choice, man, you know Rico-"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Rey interrupts him quickly, dismissing his apology, carefully keeping his eyes away from the floor near the sink, where Rico and his friends threw him down.  Don't think about it, nothing happened.  Couple of bruises, some buttons torn off.  No big deal.

"I mean, I didn't... it wasn't personal or anything..."

"I know, I know.  Don't worry about it."

"'Cause I'm out in a couple years, and, I mean, you being a cop and all..."

Rey gives a wry chuckle.  "I'm just a desk cop.  Or I was.  I don't even know if I'll get my job back.  I wouldn't hold a grudge anyway."

"OK.  Thanks, man.  Good luck."

"Yeah, thanks."  Rey looks up at his guard.  "OK?  Can we go now?  I really don't want anything from here."

"Toothbrush, hairbrush, pictures, letters?"

"I didn't bring any pictures.  And-" he gestures at the blood-spattered sink, "I don't want that stuff."

"Fine.  Let's go," says Piper, and Rey gives the cell one last look, sickened by the sheer volume of blood he must have spilled there.  As much as he's used to crime scenes, this is pretty disturbing, knowing all of it is his.  Even Lennie, who can stare impassively at the most gruesome things, is looking a little green.  Rey supposes seeing a crime scene is different when you know the victim.  Perpetrator.  Whatever you call a person who slashed himself.

"What did he mean about Rico?" Jack asks.

"Nothing.  Storage next?" Rey asks Piper.  He nods and Rey sighs wearily.  "Good.  It'll be nice being back in street clothes."

"Hey, you know," Piper says helpfully, "you could use an empty conjugal visit suite and take a shower if you want, wash the blood outta your hair.  You did a pretty good number on yourself," he says wryly.  Rey looks back at him curiously.  "I was one of the guards that took you to the infirmary.  My wife's still bitching about the extra laundry you cost me."

"Sorry."

Piper shrugs.  "Eh, that's why they pay me the big bucks," he says dismissively.

===

"Here we go, personal effects shipped in from Riker's for Curtis, R, #65B713, check that you've got all of it, wallet, ID, $13.23-" the clerk at Storage mechanically recites the contents of his bag of personal items, everything he had on his person nine days ago when he walked into the 27th precinct with his daughter and confessed to murder.  Everything except his badge, that is.  He signs for everything and it all goes back into the bag, except for his wallet, which Lennie hangs onto until he's dressed in something with pockets.  Piper unlocks his cuff and it falls to the side, still attached to the wheelchair.

Rey rubs his wrist thoughtfully.  Never gonna wear one of those again.  Hm.  That's good.  He was starting to get used to them, and that bothered the hell out of him.  He looks up and meets Lennie's eyes.  "Look Ma, no handcuffs," he says softly, and Lennie chuckles.  Rey grins briefly, then carefully stands up from the wheelchair.  Whoa.  Take it slowly.  If this is how unsteady Deborah feels every time she stands up, he's amazed at her willpower, making herself do this every day.

===

It's nice being in a shower by himself, not having eyes crawling all over him.  Not that he had to worry about the shower hawks, as they're called here - the first day he wasn't a target and the next few days he was considered off-limits because of Rico's 'protection', so as long as he went when he knew Rico wasn't on the block he was OK.  But it still made his stomach churn, knowing he was being checked out.

The water comes off pink at first - the guard was right, there was still blood in his hair.  It's a little awkward washing around the cuts, even though they've given him plastic wrap to go over the bandages.

He stays there for a while, leaning against the wall weakly, warm water pouring over him, mind blank.  As he gets out he remembers thinking he could stay in a shower for a year and still never feel clean again. He knows all the blood and sweat and filth from the last few days are gone, but... it turns out he was right.  Damn it.

Don't think about it.  It's all over now, and you'll be OK once your mind gets around the fact that you're not an inmate any more.  Look, no more prison tans, there's your own jeans and sweatshirt.  See?  All better now.

===

At last, the front gate of Sing Sing.  Rey's shivering with cold as they wait for the guard to open the gate.  It's early evening, but dark already and freezing outside.  Then the gate's open and he's stepping through it, in his own clothes, no cuffs, no guards, just a regular civilian walking out of Sing Sing Correctional Facility like he walked in and out of so many of these places before, when he was a cop.

Well, not quite regular civilian.  Ex-con.  As he follows Jack and Lennie to the car he idly wonders if that's the correct term for somebody whose verdict was overturned as opposed to somebody who served his sentence.  He wonders if he'll ever be a cop again or if his conviction, however fleeting, will prevent him from being reinstated.  Well, if it does, maybe he can get a job as an orderly.  He wonders why he can't seem to care one way or the other.

Finally, they're pulling out of the Sing Sing parking lot.  Rey leans back in the back seat and asks tiredly, "Do you guys mind if I just sleep till we get to the city?"

"Sure, uh, we're gonna stop at a pharmacy in Ossining, you want us to wake you up for that?" Lennie asks.

"I'd rather just take everything when I get home," Rey yawns.  Home.  Sounds strange.  "Oh, never mind, you'll have to wake me up."

"Why?"

"I don't have any cash to give you, I'll need to use my credit card-"

"Don't worry about it, we'll get it," Jack interrupts him.  "No, it's not charity, the doctor at the infirmary said it's covered anyway.  You were injured while in custody so the State of New York picks up the tab for the antibiotics and all of that."  Rey nods OK.  Sure.  Thanks a bunch, State of New York.  You gonna pick up the pieces of me too?

No, don't think like that.  No pieces to pick up.  You're fine.

Lennie looks in the back mirror and sees Rey watching the institution recede behind them.  It must be disorienting to be coming out of a place so horrible, a place you'd resigned yourself to be in for the next six years, so quickly, he thinks.  Rey's face is completely impassive though.

He can't quite figure Rey out right now.  He didn't know what he expected, but the whole time they've been moving through Sing Sing today Rey's been oddly subdued, fairly unemotional, except for that one flash of a smile when Piper took off the cuffs.  It's partly the blood loss and drugs, but Lennie's still uneasy.  Rey's almost... almost the way he was when Lennie first came into contact with him again, when he was first called to investigate his mother's death.  He seems hollow somehow.

What must it have been like for him to be in such danger that he risked his life and almost bled to death in his cell?  What was it like being in Sing Sing?  Lennie wonders if he'll ever know, if Rey will ever talk about it or if he'll just do his best to forget it.  Wonders if he'll be able to forget it.

In the back seat, Rey watches Sing Sing disappear behind a hill.  All over, he thinks.  Nine days, felt like an eternity.  But it's over.  Bye bye, Sing Sing.

What was that old Johnny Cash song?   Lennie would probably know.  San Quentin.  His dad used to listen to Johnny Cash.  Cash had a lot of prison songs.  _San Quentin, you've been livin' Hell to me..._

He leans his head back on the seat, closes his eyes and starts to drift off immediately.  _San Quentin, what good do you think you do, Do you think that I'll be different when you're through..._

===

"Rey, wake up.  We're here," Lennie's saying, shaking his shoulder.

Here?  Where?  Oh.

He gets out of the car stiffly, everything aching, and barely registers where they are before his daughters are almost knocking him over and hugging him.  Serena hugging him - that hadn't happened in so long, until they were at the precinct and he was going to prison for her.  Nine days ago.  A lifetime ago.

God, that hurts.  They're crushing his bruised ribs, brushing against the burning cuts on his arms.

His sister is wheeling Deborah over, and he approaches her chair and gives her a quick kiss and hug.  It doesn't feel real.  He thought he was never going to see her again, hold her again.  Hold any of them again.  This feels like a dream.

Lisa's holding Tania up to him, since he can't pick her up, and she squeals in delight as he gives her a kiss.  He feels like a ghost among the living.  They start to move inside as the crowd outside starts the countdown.  New Year's Eve, soon to be New Year's Day.  That feels more real than his presence here.

"What happened to your wrist, Daddy?" asks Isabel and Rey carefully keeps his face blank as he pulls his coat sleeve down and dismisses her question.

"Nothing, sweetie.  I'll tell you some other day.  Let's just get inside."  Some other day, right.  Never.

"Hey, Dad, there's firecrackers out there!  Wanna see?" Serena asks.

"Not really, Serena, I'm a little tired."

"Yeah, they look kinda dinky," she says, and tells him, "We had Chinese takeout for dinner!  We saved you leftovers - shrimp and noodles."

"My favourites!" he says, winking at her.  They always used to say that when they got Chinese takeout, although they haven't in years.  Chinese takeout is the equivalent of a splurge for his family now.

He's struck by how much colour there is out here, even at midnight.  Everybody's coat is a different colour, the kids' bright red, blue, green, purple.  The stairwell is a bright yellow that he's always hated, but after days of institutional green and grey walls, tan and white clothing, the riot of colours is both disorienting and comforting.

Finally.  Their floor.  He feels like he just climbed Mount Everest.  Never thought he'd be here again.  He'd said goodbye to all of this.

Back from the dead.

They enter the apartment and he takes off his coat.  God, he's so exhausted...

Fuck!!  Rico's grabbing him and his body is instantly in overdrive and he's gonna kill him and he whips around and throws Rico against the wall, don't TOUCH ME you sick disgusting freak -

Jack.  Jack is across the room from him, winded and holding on to the wall for dear life, where Rico was just moments ago.

"Christ, Jack.  I'm sorry.  Shit," oh my god what did he just do - Rico was here, he was _right here_, he could feel Rico's breath on his neck, _Relax baby, I'm gonna enjoy this_ - "I didn't mean to, I, I thought-" Rico was right here, in this apartment, more real than any of them.  But nobody else can see him, none of them know he's here.  In Rey's mind.  He's trembling, covering his eyes, fighting the urge to kill or scream or cry or throw up.  Rico was here.

"Rey.  Sit down," he can barely hear Deborah's voice through the pounding of his heart as she pulls him down to the couch.

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry," he hides his face in his hands.  Rico's still here.  _You wanna put on a show?  You're gonna wish you were dead before I'm done with you._

Deborah's sitting next to him, pulling on his shoulder, and he can hold her this time.  He can hang on to her and try to get a grip.  Fear and rage coursing through him, Rico Gonzalez you son of a bitch, how can you have left a piece of you still in my head, why am I carrying you with me, how am I ever gonna get away from you?

Deborah.  Deborah's real, holding him in her arms but he doesn't feel safe even there.  Even being in his own apartment, Deborah holding him, doesn't take away the terror and anger.  All it does is keep him from going to the kitchen right now and getting a carving knife and slashing his wrists for real this time, bleed his life out, get away from Rico the only way he can.

He can feel his family gathering around him and he desperately tries to ground himself.  Deborah's here.  She's not an illusion, Rico is.  Lisa's here.  Olivia, Isabel, Tania, Serena.  They're real.  They're here.  Rico isn't.  Calm down.  You're gonna freak them out.  Calm down.

Then Serena says softly, "It's OK Daddy.  It's over.  You're safe now, you're home."

He's safe.  He's home.

Oh God.

He's not.

Suddenly everything he's trying so hard to hold in bursts out and a sob rips from his throat and then there's nothing, nothing he can do to stop the tears.  He's not safe, he's not home, he's still in Sing Sing, still in Hell.  It's not over.  It's not over.

His body's shaking with sobs as he holds on to Deborah, Deborah please help me, please take me out of here, but how can she?  As far as she can tell, he _is_ out.  When he was in the infirmary and she talked to him - or maybe that was a dream - he felt safe.  Now he's out and she's holding him, and he doesn't feel safe at all.  He's not.  Too much roiling through him, every emotion he's felt in the last nine days warring for supremacy, and he's crying harder than he has since he was a little kid and he's helpless to stop, tears soaking Deborah's blouse, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Rico's not here.  He's _not here_.  It's over, you're safe, you're home.

He repeats those words to himself over and over again like a mantra, trying to quell his raging emotions.  You're safe.  You're home.  He will never touch you again.  He will never, ever make you do anything again.

But he did.  He did, and that's with you forever.

He's being battered by a storm of images and emotions, a hurricane sweeping over him, and he's trying to hold fast to the only solid anchor he has but he's still being swept away.

You're safe.  You're home.  Stop crying.

Deborah is real.  Serena and Lisa and Isabel and Tania and Olivia, they're all real.  Rico isn't.  You're back among the living, and you're one of them now.

Deborah's stroking his back as if he was a child, talking to somebody.  Her body's trembling too as she holds him tight.

"No, I'm staying with him," Serena's saying, leaning against him.  "He needs us."

He needs us.  His daughter's saying that.  Anguished sobs are racking his whole body.  He must be scaring them all to no end, it must be terrifying to little girls to see their father break down like this and he can hear Tania whimpering, but he can't pull himself together.  He tries to catch his breath, tries to force himself to settle down, and can't.  Can't turn the switch off, can't clamp down.  He's done it too many times and he has no strength left to do it again.

"Nalo, it's OK," Lisa's saying softly, stroking his hair.  "Take as long as you need.  We're all right here.  We're not going anywhere.  Let it out."

He's just gonna have to ride this out until he's too tired to keep going.  Part of him wishes his family would just leave him alone because it's agonizing to be so helpless before all of them.  At the same time most of him is just grateful to them for being there, helping to ground him, making him feel their presence, reminding him that he really is home.

You're home.  Your wife and sister and daughters are surrounding you.  You're safe.

You weren't, though, says another voice in his mind.  You weren't safe.  That man scared you, used you, hurt you, and enjoyed every minute of it.  Will you ever get rid of him?  Will you ever feel clean again?  Will you ever want to share your body with Deborah again?  Will you ever get past what he did to you and accept what you were forced to do to him... and to yourself?

He drove you to almost kill yourself.  You almost died, you spent the better part of today wishing you were dead, praying to God with all your heart to let you die, and that's with you forever as well.

Six days in Sing Sing.  That was enough to bring down everything you worked so hard to build up.

That's how fragile you are.

But now you're home, he tries to convince himself.  You'll build up again.  Your family's here.  You'll be strong again some day.  Some day.

But will you ever trust that strength?  Will you ever feel confident again, knowing how quickly everything can be swept away?  How little it takes to break you down?

It doesn't matter right now.  All that matters is that you're home.

You're home.

He makes himself focus on Deborah's steadying presence, her hands still rubbing his back, her dampened blouse against his cheek, her hair.  Makes himself push away memories of other hands on his body, violence and violation and terror and degradation.  Just think of Deborah now.  Think of the girls.

The weeping is slowly dying down.  He's so exhausted.  It's so hard to come back.

You're safe.  You're home.  It's over.  It's over.

It's over.  Finally.  He feels spent, drained, but finally calmer.  He hasn't moved, face buried against Deborah's neck this whole time.  She sighs, wiping her eyes.  He stays where he is, still hiding his face from the rest of his family.  They're here.  They're all around him, keeping the demons away.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Are you OK now, Daddy?" Olivia asks gently.  He nods wordlessly.  He feels completely worn out, a little bit numb.  But Rico's gone - for now, at least.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers, resting his head on Deborah's shoulder, his face no longer buried in her hair but not looking at any of them.  Lisa hands him a handkerchief and he wipes his face, breath still shuddering.

"Daddy, it's all right," Isabel says softly.

"Girls, it's time for bed," Lisa says quietly, and one by one his daughters stand and leave, giving him reassuring pats and kisses as they go.

"I'm glad you're home, Daddy," Serena whispers into his ear and hugs him.  Tania reaches up to touch his face, her eyes wide and curious, and he strokes her soft baby cheek, taking comfort in her innocent presence for a moment before Lisa takes her away.

Finally they're all gone and it's just him and Deborah.  Jack and Lennie must have left at some point, he didn't notice.  He lets go of Deborah, shakily sitting back on the couch, biting his lip and looking away from her.  She touches his shoulder gently.

"Rey... are you OK?"

"Y-yeah.  Yeah.  I'm... I'm sorry," his voice is rough as he tries to steady his breathing.  She makes a small noise in her throat and strokes his hair.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I didn't - I didn't mean to..."

"It's OK."  He shakes his head.  It's not OK.  "Rey, you're home.  That's all that really matters.  Anything else, we'll deal with it together."  He hesitates, then nods, willing himself to believe her words.  She gently touches his cheek, and he reluctantly meets her eyes.  They're reddened, weary, full of love and compassion for him.  There's acceptance in those eyes.  They're telling him he doesn't need to feel ashamed of his lack of emotional control, doesn't need to apologize, not to her.  He tries to believe that.

"Can we go to bed?" he asks, not really wanting to talk right now.  She nods, and he gets her ready for bed, thanking God that he's able to do this again.  He can't lift her out of her chair because of his cuts, so Lisa has to help out once she's done with Tania.  As she puts Deborah to bed, Rey gets ready for bed himself, sighing as he looks at all the little bottles with his name on them.  Antibiotics, anti-depressants, prescription pain meds... jeez, he's almost taking more pills than Deborah.  He changes the dressing on his forearm - apparently he ripped a stitch open at some point and the wound is bleeding a bit, and it itches like hell from the infection.

_It's not my name, but it's gonna stare at you for the rest of your life, snaking down, saying I claimed you. Everybody's gonna be able to see it.  Your friends... your _wife...

Lisa touches his shoulder as he exits the washroom, pausing him on his way into the bedroom.

"Nalo... are you all right?"  He nods automatically, eyes turned away from hers.  "Hermano, don't bullshit me.  How are you feeling?"

He shrugs.  She purses her lips, dissatisfied, and he snaps tiredly, "How do you think I feel, Lisa?  I just got outta prison, OK?  I feel lousy."  Lisa steps closer and puts her arms around him.  After a moment, he hugs her back.  His big sister, always wanting to make things better for him, ever since they were kids.  And so often just as powerless as he to do anything about any of the crap that's gone wrong with his life.

He gets into bed next to Deborah.  He remembers that first night in Riker's, when he couldn't go to sleep because she wasn't next to him, how much he ached to hold her.  The nights in Sing Sing, in the top bunk of Cell 651, in the infirmary, when he wouldn't even let himself think about her.  And now she's here.  And the last thing he does before he falls into a deep sleep is take her into his arms.

He's safe.  He's home.  It's over.

===

For Mel, Ozzy, Shawn, Walter B, Walter W, Big Poppa, Ken, Frank P, Jimmy, Dawn, Mandy, Angela, Crystal, Peter P, Peter C, Peter W, Mike, Youngblood, Glasses, Terrell, Dougal, Derek, Ng, Ed, Dead Ed, Chuck, Felipe, Stephen, Courtney, Raja, Trevor, Scott, Daryl, Ryan, Hamed, Dreads, Jose, Kia, Charley, Tranh, Steve, Sarge, Bill P, Lobo, Keith P, Keith, Wayne, Crazy Joe, Robert, Roberto, Smash, Chris, Gary, Diego, Larry, Andre, Sean B, Sean, Mohammed, Nate, Ric, Carl W, Carl, Carlos, Lenny, Tom, John C, Jason, Trevor, Scott, Yvon, Bill, Aubrey, Frank, Ruben, and all the other men I met at Bath and KP who taught me more than I really wanted to know about human depravity and suffering but also taught me a great deal about dignity and endurance.

And especially for Andy and Herbie.


	2. Avoidance

CHAPTER II: AVOIDANCE 

_Day 6  
Sunday, December 28_

"Rey," Tim Bayliss greets him the next morning, back at Block H after breakfast.  "Don't stay in your cell.  Come on out to the common area," he says with a smile.  Rey stares at him for a moment, unsure about his sudden friendliness.  "I, I didn't want to say hi when you were brought in, 'cause I didn't want to make trouble for you - everyone here knows I was a cop.  But, uh, the whole block knows about you too now, so there's no point staying in your cell.  As a matter of fact, you're usually a lot safer out in the open, where the guards can see you."

He follows Tim cautiously to a table where another inmate, a nondescript young dark-haired man, is shuffling a deck of cards.

"Welcome to the pariah's card table," the inmate says with a friendly grin.

"Rey, Snapple, Snapple, Rey," Tim introduces them.  Snapple gives his hand a firm shake, and shuffles again.

"You play poker?"

"Uh, yeah," Rey sits down.  Snapple deals him in.

"It's not really the pariah's table," Snapple says, "Other guys play here too sometimes but mostly it's a nice place to just hang together and not get hassled.  We get the bottom of the totem pole here - snitches, rapists, ex-cops, kids, he-she's, hookers, you know.  It's our own cozy little corner of Hell."

"Call the game, Snapple," Tim reminds him.

"Uh, straight draw?"

"Sure."

They start to play.  Rey tries very hard to not be reminded of what happened yesterday.  Tries very hard to concentrate on his cards and not on the occasional whistles and catcalls being tossed his way.  Tim and Snapple seem oblivious.

"Oh, in case you're wondering, Rico's in the Hole.  He won't be back till after lunch," Tim mentions casually partway through their second game.

"How do you know that?"

"Only thing that travels faster than light is prison gossip, man," Snapple replies.  "Everybody in the block knows Rico Gonzalez tried for you yesterday and sent you to the infirmary.  That's also why you're not gonna get hassled too much today either, 'cause he's put a claim on you that you're his boy, so hands off to anybody else."

Rey draws in his breath sharply.  A claim on him.  God.  He shudders and firmly brings his mind back to the cards.  Gonzalez is not here right now, and he's got a family visit today at 10:30.  He won't be back on the block until after 3pm.  Hopefully he'll be able to stay out in the open and be OK until he's transferred to Seg.

===

"What are you gonna do for a job?" Tim asks him a few games later.

"A job?" he hadn't thought of that.  He'd assumed he'd be in Seg.

"What can you do?" asks Snapple.

"I was a cop... think they'll let me be a cop in here?  There's plenty of crime going on," he jokes.  Tim and Snapple laugh.

"They're always looking for cleaners," Snapple points out.  "The cafeteria's always hiring too."

"Yeah, but cleaner and cook, that's a high inmate-guard ratio.  He wouldn't last long," Tim tells Snapple.

"The infirmary - they're looking for orderlies, if you don't mind bedpans and cleaning puke and blood and other body fluids," Snapple suggests.

"I could do that.  I'm used to it."

"I thought you were a cop?" says Snapple.

"There's disabled people in my family.  I've done a lot of medical stuff.  I'm trying to get into Seg though."

"Yeah, well, don't count on that.  It could be months."

Months. Don't think like that.

"What do you do?" he asks Tim, making conversation to keep away unpleasant thoughts.

"I'm the clerk for the Rec centre.  I keep track of the weights, sports equipment, all that stuff."

"What about you?"

"Cleaner in the kitchen.  I get to see what they don't feed us.  It's hard to tell sometimes what I'm supposed to throw into the incinerator - the food or the garbage."

"Some of that crap, the incinerator would really improve the taste," Tim grimaces.

"Why's it so awful?"

"A few years ago, the cooks actually made a good meal.  Guys went back for seconds.  The boss was ripshit 'cause it screwed up his budget, and they almost got fired," Snapple explains.  "Kitchen's a lousy place to work.  You're not the on same schedule as everybody else, the boss is an idiot, it smells awful... but hey, you take what you can get."

"Why do you have to work?"

"Well, your correctional plan.  Part of your 'rehabilitation' in here is employment.  Looks good for the parole board.  And you get paid."

"What, a dollar a day?"

"$6.50.  We're not slave labour, you know," Snapple says with a disdainful sniff.

"What do you use it for?"

"You get basic food and shelter but anything else - toothpaste, aspirin, cigarettes, whatever, has to be from your own pocket," Tim tells him.

"And if you don't use up your pay?  You put it under your mattress and hope nobody steals it?"

"It goes in a bank account.  But you won't have that problem.  Rico won't let you keep it."

He raises his eyebrows.

"He'll take every penny, give you whatever he thinks you'll need - cigarettes, booze, crack, whatever.  Not much though, Rico's a bit stingy with his boys," Snapple explains.

"Don't call me that," he mutters, irate.

"What?"

"His 'boy'.  I'm not his boy, OK?" he decides to gather clubs for this round.

"What do you prefer?" Snapple smirks, "Girlfriend, wife, honey, sweetheart?"

"No, actually, I wouldn't prefer any of those either," he snaps back, annoyed.

"Boy toy? Kid? Punk, whore, bitch?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Rey turns back to the cards.

"Property?"

"Whatever."  Just shut up and play cards.

"Can't be thin-skinned in here, Rey.  That's a good way to die young," Tim warns him.

===

There's a sudden flurry of activity in the quad, silent but noticeable enough that Rey glances up from his cards.  Inmates are moving swiftly through the common area.  A man playing chess is suddenly grabbed by three other men who lift him up and quickly and silently carry him out of the quad and out of sight.  He raises his eyebrows questioningly at Tim and Snapple, who've watched the sudden move with amusement.

"Mackie.  He owes them big time.  I was wondering when they were gonna take him out," Snapple says, chuckling.  Rey looks up at the guard post.  It's empty.

"What are they gonna do to him?"

"Rough him up a little, remind him to pay his gambling debts on time," Tim says absently, pondering his cards.

"Snapple?  You in?" a young redhead with a bunch of tattoos up and down his arms has appeared next to Snapple as if by magic.

"Just two, man, I still owe Petrie from last time," Snapple says, and almost faster than Rey's eyes can follow the two have clasped hands and made some sort of exchange.

"Timmy?" the redhead asks.

"Not today," Tim says casually.  The redhead shrugs and walks off.  Snapple slips whatever it was into his shoe.  And just as suddenly as the burst of activity started, it ends and the quad appears as calm as before.  Rey glances up.  Sure enough, there's the guard at his post again.

"What was that?"

"Opportunity.  Guard leaves - there's always supposed to be two on so this kinda thing doesn't happen, but whenever they slip up everybody's watching.  That's when stuff goes down here - deals, contraband moving, Mackie being taught a lesson," Tim shrugs.

"I gotta go, be right back," Snapple wanders off to his cell.

"Drugs?" Rey asks Tim.

"You heard him sniffling?  Snapple's always gonna tell you he's got a cold.  He's had the same cold since the day I met him.  It's called cocaine," Tim informs him with a chuckle.

"He's a user?"

"Most guys here are."

"You?" Rey challenges.

"I'm taking a break from it.  But yeah, for a while there I had the same cold Snapple does."

Rey frowns at his cards, disturbed.  Tim clears his throat.

"Something you wanna say?"  He shakes his head.  "Spit it out, Rey."

"You used to be a cop."  Rey tells himself he has no right to judge Tim - after all, he himself used drugs even before he came to prison.  But he can't help thinking that there's a bit of a difference between pot and cocaine.  Or there should be, to a cop.  Not that either one is acceptable, but...

"Emphasis on the 'used to be'," Tim points out.  "It's a way to get through, in here."  Rey bites his tongue.  God knows he's got no right to judge, not any more.  "You never know, you may want a bit of that kind of help yourself, after you've been here long enough."  Rey shakes his head automatically.  "You've never taken anything?" Tim asks curiously.

"Yeah, I have," he admits.  "Nothing harder than pot though."

"Well, if you want some I can hook you up with a guy who deals pretty good stuff."

"No thanks."  Not only would that break a promise he made to himself to not do it any more, but he really wouldn't want to.  It would be nice to get a reprieve from the tension he's been feeling since he came in and the knife-edged nerves since the attack yesterday, but not at the expense of dulling his senses or impairing his judgment.  Not in here.

===

It's mid-afternoon and his family visit is over.  Overall, it went pretty well, although he really wishes he had phone privileges so he could have warned them that he'd been injured.  They were all shocked at his injuries at first, but the girls got over it quickly enough.  And he was able to deflect Deborah enough so that he didn't have to go into any kind of detail in front of the girls about what happened.  He sure wishes he'd been able to not go into detail with Deborah either.

He wonders what it's like for his daughters, coming to Sing Sing, seeing their father cuffed and chained along with thirty other criminals.  Is it better or worse than losing him from their lives completely?  He's heard of fathers in prison who refused to let their children visit.  He always assumed that was just an excuse to not see their kids, what with them being lowlifes who never really cared about their children in the first place.  But now, seeing his girls in this terrible place... he wonders if maybe they had it right after all.

Your father is supposed to be a role model.  He's supposed to be strong, protecting you, helping you, taking care of you and showing you how an adult is supposed to act.  He's not supposed to be confined and restrained, treated like a child or, worse, a dangerous animal.  He knows he's done a piss-poor job of being any kind of role model in the last few years, but at least before he wasn't in handcuffs.

Maybe they shouldn't come.  He takes a deep breath, realizing that even thinking that makes his heart ache.  Not seeing his daughters at all for six years... the thought is agonizing.  Now that he's back on the block he's realizing just how much he was looking forward to seeing his family today.  He doesn't know if he could take not having that to look forward to.

On the other hand, while seeing the girls was wonderful, it was also painful.  He was able to forget where he was while he listened to their stories, read to Tania from one of the books in the visiting area... but he kept being reminded that this was just a visit.  He remembers what it was like when he and Deborah were separated when the girls were little, how awful it was to only see his daughters every few days.  Not living with them, not really being their parent any more, just a visitor in their lives.  He felt like that when he was living at Lennie's too, but then at least it was partially by his choice and he knew it was only going to be for a few weeks.

Six years.  Missing six years of his children's lives.  That's one third of a childhood.  This is not what he ever envisioned when he and Deborah started their family.

And what a comedown this is right now.  Going from being with his family, almost feeling human again, to being back here.

The last part of the visit was a bit of a nightmare too.  Telling his wife he'd been sexually assaulted - just what every guy wants his wife to know.  It's the same as the whole issue of being treated like an inmate in front of the kids.  Your wife is supposed to see you as strong, not as a victim for some large hairy inmate.  He remembers how uncomfortable he felt when his lady boss was coming on to him at OCCB, how embarrassing it was telling Deborah that he was thinking of transferring because of sexual harassment.  That was nothing compared to this.

He remembers sexual assault victims, how they were often ashamed.  He always told them that it wasn't their fault and they didn't need to feel that way, but that's so much easier said than done.  There's no getting away from the shame of having been a sexual target.  It's humiliating.  No wonder so many of them never report it.

Telling McCoy about the attack - that was a nightmare too.  He felt like he was reliving it.  He tried to keep a calm, professional distance from it, tried to think of the incident as a cop would.  The perpetrator was here and the victim was there and the weapon was this and the events were as follows... but he couldn't do it.  Not when it was his story he was telling.

And then, hearing the guard say, "Back to home sweet home," and knowing that he was coming right back here...

So now he's back on the block.  And he knows Gonzalez is very likely to come after him again, he's not safe even in the quad, out where the guards can see him.  He could be taken out just like that, just like Mackie was this morning.

Maybe he can go to the infirmary.  He approaches a guard who's gazing out at the open area.  Reminds himself to be respectful.

"Ma'am?"

"Yeah."

"Can I go to the infirmary?"

"You sick?"

"No ma'am.  I'm looking for a job."

"Oh.  Uh, sure.  You'll have to wait till after dinner though.  Oh - actually, no you won't, I've gotta go there myself to deliver some reports.  I'll take you.  Wait here while I finish up."

He stands and waits for about twenty minutes while the guard does some paperwork, takes a couple of radio calls, trades gossip with another guard, and finally wraps up.  It's amazing how much of an inmate's life is taken up waiting for staff.  It doesn't occur to the guard to let him know how long he'll be waiting, or tell him she'll come and get him when she's done her tasks.  He needs her to get him to the infirmary, she'll go when she's good and ready, and there's no reason why he shouldn't be made to stand and wait until she's done.  It's not malicious.  It's not done to demean or belittle.  It's just the way things are in here.

Finally.  She's done.  "All righty," she takes out her cuffs, "Off we go."

===

"Ma'am?"

"Yeah?"

"I was told you were looking for orderlies."

"You wanna be an orderly?" The hard-faced, sharp-voiced young nurse in a pastel pink uniform checks him over.  "Got any medical experience?"

"My wife's got MS and my daughter's disabled.  I've done a lot of medical stuff in the last couple years."

She shrugs.  "OK, sure, no problem, we're short right now anyway.  I'll want you to write it down - you know how to read and write?"

He nods.

"Good.  Write down your experience like a resume.  We're supposed to give you guys real-life work experience here and that includes resumes and interviews, but we don't have time for that crap, especially for an orderly job.  You know how to write a resume?  'Cause if you don't, just give it to Santini there, he'll type it up for you."

"No, I'm OK, I can do it."

"What's your HIV?"

"My what?"

"You positive or negative?"

"Negative."

"Don't shit me on this, 'cause you can't work here if you're positive."  She peers at him for a moment, then apparently decides to believe him.  "I'll take your word for it for now.  We'll have you tested eventually, but we need you working right now.  You can start right away if you want, Stephens is doing the afternoon shift by himself today till six.  You get dinner here instead of the cafeteria 'cause stuff goes down in the caf sometimes and we need orderlies to help out."  That sounds great, and he nods.  "Most of the time you mop, change bedpans, change diapers, feed the ones that can't feed themselves, all that.  Hey you're not in on a drug rap, are you?"

"No."

"Lemme see your arms."

He stares at her quizzically.

"Your arms, pal, your veins," she taps the bend of her elbow impatiently.  "What, this your first time inside?"

"Yeah," he mutters as he shows her his arms.  She peers closely.

"OK, good, no tracks.  I don't care if you're a user, but I won't hire anybody stupid enough to leave tracks where anybody can see them.  What are you in for?"

"Murder.  Um, Man One."

"Oh, good.  Not drug-related?"

"No."

"Anything else on your sheet?"

"No.  Oh - uh, yes."

"Well?"

He clears his throat.  "Public Lewdness."

"You in on a skin rap?" she looks at him askance.

Skin rap - that's a sexual offence.  She must think he raped and murdered somebody, then pled down to Man One and Public Lewdness.  "Oh - no, no, it... um..."

"'Cause I don't want you grabbing the nurses.  Or the patients, for that matter."

"No, no, it wasn't-" he takes a breath.  "Oral sex at a bar," he says quickly, willing himself to not blush.  This is a prison nurse, she's surely heard of much worse crimes.

"Oh," she laughs.  "OK, well don't blow anybody in here," she says, stern once more.

"I - I didn't-"

"OK, so, that's great, that's great," she doesn't really care.  "OK, I'll check your file tonight, and I mean it, you got a narcotics charge and you're outta here so fast... we can't have our orderlies pilfering, we get little enough as it is.  You steal one aspirin, you go to the Hole for a week.  You been to the Hole?"

"No."

"You don't wanna go.  No clothes, no books, no cellmate, no nothing, just you bare-ass all by yourself in a cell for days at a time."

That sounds pretty good, he thinks, how can I get sent there?  Where do you keep the aspirin?

"What's your number?"

"65B713."  He's heard that number so many times in the last few days at count-up.

"Last name?"

"Curtis."  She writes it down, not bothering to ask his first name.  Your number is your first name, in here.

"Curtis?  That an alias?" She looks at him and he figures she doesn't think he looks or sounds like a Curtis.

"No, my real name."

"OK, suit up, there's the uniform, there's the inmate washroom," she points to a shelf with white clothing on it, and a door behind him.  He changes into the white orderly clothes, pants, shirt, apron.  Why white?  So the blood and other stuff can show up better against it?  Nice change from tan, anyway.

"You'll be expected to be here at work-up, sign in, do as you're told, don't talk back, don't screw around on the job.  Got that?" she asks as he emerges from the washroom.

"Yes."

"And we got lotsa AIDS and Hep.  Gloves anytime there's blood, but you will have to deal with it.  Bleeders come in all the time, stabbings, all sorts of stuff.  If you're scared of AIDS, get the hell out."  She hands him a pair of latex gloves, indicates his apron string, and he tucks them in.  No belt, no pockets - like most prison clothing. No way to hang yourself or anybody else and supposedly no place to stash contraband.

"There's a small AIDS ward, and you'll be doing time there.  Might not make you popular if the guys on your block find out you're working there... lotsa them are a little shy about AIDS."

That's food for thought.  Maybe he can request to work the AIDS ward a lot; Gonzalez just might be stupid enough to leave him alone then, figuring he's contagious.

"First off, I'll need you to mop up over there, we had a vomitorium just now.  Stephens!"

Another orderly approaches quickly.  Heavyset and middle aged, white, pleasant looking face, tattoos up and down his arms and a teardrop tattooed under his left eye.

"This is Curtis, show him the cleaning closet.  Oh, and Curtis, no stealing from the cleaning supplies either except for bleach.  You need bleach to clean your works, take as much as you need.  You start trying to sell it to the guys on your block though and you're fired, sent to the Hole, and written up big time.  It took a hell of a lot of persuading to get the Warden to let us hand out free bleach for needles.  He finds out some con's making money off of it, and the program's over.  Same with condoms.  They're free, take as many as you want, take 'em back to the block, give 'em away as party favours, but don't sell 'em.  Got it?"

"Got it."  He starts to follow Stephens.

"Oh and Curtis, if you are a user, don't be high on the ward, and if you're hooking, no hooking on the ward either.  And if you're using, make sure you clean your works and stay negative.  And don't shoot the bleach," she adds, smiling at Stephens.  Stephens grins back and chuckles as he leads Rey to the back of the infirmary, to a large storage closet.

"Don't shoot the bleach?"

"Inside joke," explains Stephens.  "When they first taught safe sex and safe using in here, they told the users to clean their works with bleach.  A couple of the lads decided to see what kind of buzz they'd get if they shot the bleach.  Figured it just might be a free high."

Rey frowns, disturbed.

"It's not a free high, in case you were wondering.  Not a high at all.  Don't try it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Stephens shows him the cleaning closet and he mops up the vomit on the floor.

"Curtis, you were in here the other day, weren't you?" the nurse asks him as he's mopping.

"Yes ma'am."

"Slice, arm?"  He nods.  "Not my shift, but I read the log.  Nasty stuff, twelve stitches."

"Yeah."

"How's it feeling?"

"OK," he finishes mopping, starts to bring the bucket back to the storage room.

"You OK with mopping?"

"Yeah, they said it didn't hit anything major.  It's on my left arm anyway."

"A clean cut.  Good.  Who did it?"

He looks at her uncertainly.  He's been told to be respectful, but does that mean answering any and all questions she poses?

"I'm asking because if the guy who cut you comes in I don't want you working on him.  That's a lawsuit waiting to happen.  Who was it?"

"Rico Gonzalez."

"Oh.  I know him.  Creep.  What did you do to piss him off?"

He looks away from her, not knowing what he can and can't say.

"Oh."  She looks him over.  "Oh.  OK, don't worry, you're safe here."

He feels his cheeks burning, knowing she knows and feeling exposed.  He brings the bucket back to the storage room and washes it out, firmly turning his mind away from anything but the job he's supposed to be doing.

Later, taking a break with Stephens, he finds himself glancing at the elaborate tattoos snaking down his arms.  Stephens notices.

"You got any?"

"What?"

"Tattoos."

"No."

"Didn't think so," Stephens smiles.  "You're pretty new to the system, aren't you? This side of it, anyway."

He doesn't really know what to say to that, just stares at Stephens blankly.  Stephens smiles again.  It seems a genuine, unthreatening smile, but it's hard to tell in this place.

"Whoever suggested taking on a job at the infirmary, be sure to thank them, eh?  This is probably the safest place for you in the whole institution."

He changes the subject.  "You get those done in here?" he nods at Stephens' tattoos.

"In prison, yeah.  Not all here though.  The teardrop and the swastika were done at Millhaven."  He hadn't noticed the swastika, but there it is, hidden among other geometric patterns near Stephen's elbow.  "Yeah, I covered the swastika.  It's from another life," Stephens says ruefully.  "Same with the teardrop, but I can't cover that one."  It's on his face."

"You not in a gang any more?"

"Oh I was never in a gang."

Rey raises his eyebrows.  A teardrop on the face is usually a gang-related tattoo, usually indicating either a person the gang member has killed or a family member who died while they were in prison.  It varies from state to state and gang to gang though.

"No?"

"No, I'm Canadian.  Well, American citizen, raised in Canada.  I was there till I got deported after my conviction."

Rey doesn't get it.  "The teardrop means something else in Canada?"

"Yeah," Stephens suddenly seems a little uncomfortable and Rey draws back.  It's important to not be too curious around here.  Most of them have lots of stuff they don't want to talk about, and the general rule is you just don't ask.

"No, it's OK, I don't mind talking about it, just... you probably wouldn't wanna know."

"Why not?"

"It means I killed a cop."

Rey quickly suppresses any outward reaction.  Christ, if this is the safest place for him to be...

"Relax.  I killed a cop twenty-two years ago, Curtis.  Besides, it's not like you qualify any more."

He frowns, irritated.  Damn it.  "Does everybody in Sing Sing know I used to be a cop?"

"After Rico spotted you?  You bet.  It's not every day a guy gets to target the cop who brought him in.  Rico's been telling the world.  He's scoring macho points like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh, good for him," Rey mutters.

"Hey, getting back at the cop who arrested you... for half the guys here, it's like a wet dream come true."

"That's an image I can do without, thanks," he manages to say evenly after a moment, suppressing a grimace of distaste.  Stephens' face is a little abashed.

"Yeah, sorry, man.  Anyway, you're pretty safe in the infirmary.  Same inmate-staff ratio as everywhere else, but..." he gestures around at the beds.  "Most of the patients are cuffed to the beds.  And there's only two orderlies on duty most of the time.  And then there's the inmate clerk, Santini."  Santini's a mousy little guy who seems scared of his own shadow.  "It's a nice, relaxing job - at least, when we're not short-staffed."

"How long you been in here?"

"Prison, twenty-two years, Sing Sing, twenty years this July, the infirmary, twelve years.  How long is your bit?"

"Six years."

"Short-timer."

"Doesn't seem that short to me."

"No, I guess not.  You got family waiting for you?"

Rey looks away and crosses his arms.  He's picked up a few habits here, and that's a general inmate signal for 'don't go there'.  There's no way he's going to go into detail about his family to anybody in here, no matter how friendly they seem.  Stephens nods and backs off.

"So what kind of cop were you outside?"

"Desk cop - admin."

"How come Rico's got it in for you then?"

"I used to work Homicide."

"How come you took a desk job?  You get shot or something?"

He looks away again.  Stephens nods again and changes the subject and they chat about the cafeteria food for a few minutes.

Then it's time to go back to work.  "You wanna do a general mop or feedings?  Makes no difference to me, I'm just glad to have a helping hand around here."

His arm is really starting to throb, but one thing he knows is that you don't admit weakness to cons.  Stephens flicks his eyes over his arm.

"Tell you what, you already mopped, why don't you do the spoon-feedings?  We got two in the regular ward and one in the AIDS ward today."

The first is Chen.  Thick, dull features further dulled by pain, he's in four-point restraints.  Stares at Rey blankly as he brings the food.  Ugh.  He thought the cafeteria food was bad... this is some kind of grey mashed potato and orange creamed corn and viscous bilious yellow jello.  He wouldn't feed this to a rat.  Actually, maybe he should, it might get rid of a few of them.  He's seen and heard quite a few scurrying around.

He starts to feed Chen, and Chen eats quite nicely for the first little while.  He's starting to wonder how come the guy's in restraints when Chen suddenly spits a stream of jello at him.  Chen shrieks with laughter at his startled exclamation, and Stephens sighs.

"Sorry, I shoulda warned you.  I thought he was too snowed to do that."  He comes over.  "Chen, buddy, come on.  Keep doing this and nobody's gonna wanna feed ya."

"Piss off, whitey," Chen giggles, jello dribbling down the side of his face.  Stephens sighs and quickly wipes off his face, and Chen tries to bite him.

"You'll wanna watch out for that.  Almost everyone's cuffed, but the ones in four-point restraints when they're conscious are the problem children.  They're usually biters, spitters, whatever."

Rey looks down at the uniform.  Yellow jello.  Nice and bright against the white.

"Clean aprons are over there.  Don't bother till you're done the feedings though."

The next inmate is Salar, who's so doped he can't possibly handle a tool as complex as a spoon.  And he wants to talk.  And talk, and talk, and talk, about his wife, children, sports, chess, women, on and on and on.  He can't feed him, and the other patients are starting to shoot annoyed glances at them.  He finally has to tell Salar to shut up and eat.  And then the guy's pouting at him, like one of his daughters when they were three years old, and complaining.  Stephens pauses his mopping and asks, "Curtis, you see any good movies lately?"

"No."

"Read any good books?"

"No."

Stephens comes over and leans close, saying quietly "Remember the plot to any book at all?  'Cause Salar's just gonna keep yacking unless you can fill up the airwaves yourself.  Do us all a favour and talk to him."

He's at a bit of a loss for a moment, and the patient in the bed next to Salar adds irately, "Say something, man, anything.  Fuck, sing him a song, tell him about Goldilocks and the Three Bears.  Anything."

So he finds himself telling this guy about a movie he saw once, a long, long time ago, and catches a few grateful looks from the other patients.  And Salar finishes his meal contentedly, and goes to sleep with a smile.

"OK, the next one's in the AIDS ward.  Gloves on and extra gown over your whites," Stephens tells him, grabbing gloves and an extra gown from a supply table at the entrance to the ward.  They enter the small AIDS ward.  There's only two patients there, one of them an emaciated old man who's not even cuffed, just lying there staring blankly and drooling and nodding to himself.

"Hi Joe," says Stephens, "This here's Curtis, he's gonna feed you today."

The old man slowly moves his eyes towards Rey, but obviously doesn't really see him.

"Here's his stuff," Stephens hands Rey a tray of mushy food.  "If he doesn't eat at least half of it, he gets an NG or IV, so make sure you note it.  And actually note it, don't fluff it, OK?"

"Why would I?" Rey asks, curious.

"Oh - yeah, you wouldn't know.  This here's Father Joe, probably one of the only guys in Sing Sing lower on the totem pole than you."

"Why?"  As soon as he says it, he's pretty sure he doesn't really want to know.  An old priest, lower in the prison hierarchy than an ex-cop.  It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's in for.

"Yeah.  You guessed it, hot for altar boys.  The way I heard it, over a hundred of 'em, for about thirty years," Stephens moves Father Joe's bed so he's sitting up.

Rey finds himself putting the tray down.  No way is he gonna spoon mush into this pervert's mouth.

"Hey, if you can't feed him proper and not treat him any different from any other patient, you're outta here," Stephens says firmly.

"A child molester?"  Rey asks him incredulously.  Father Joe keeps drooling, oblivious.

"A child molester.  He's doing his time and he's gonna die soon.  God's gonna judge him, so you don't need to.  Now, you gonna do your job or what?"

He reluctantly picks up the tray again.  "Just you remember there's plenty of people here'd like to see you where he is right now," Stephens says over his shoulder as he leaves the AIDS ward.  He doesn't say it maliciously though.  More like he just wants to remind Rey of what's the right thing to do.  Do unto Father Joe as you would want done unto you.

He thinks of Father Mike, his priest through Baptism and First Communion and Confirmation, who helped him when he had problems at school, when he was upset about his father's constant cheating, when his little sister died.  He seriously considered joining the priesthood as a kid, before he realized that the whole celibacy thing just wouldn't be doable.

He thinks of Father Morelli, who might not have done all he could for him and his family, but who would never hurt a child.  Who did his best, as far as he knew how.  Who tried so hard to help him, in the only way it occurred to him to help.

The prosecutor said that Morelli had let him down, made him feel guilty, drove him to despair.  He didn't mention all the times that Morelli reminded him of his blessings, reminded him that God would still accept him and forgive him, no matter how far he'd fallen.  The prosecutor didn't know that it was often Morelli's words he'd heard when he thought of killing himself, even though he'd never told Morelli that he wanted to.  It was often Morelli's words that brought him back, made him keep trying for one more day.

_Your family needs you, Rey.  You need to be strong for them._

_Your family is a gift from God.  You need to care for that gift._

_You are still a child of God.  Your sins hurt Him, but He still loves you as much as He ever has.  Trust Him.  God is still with you.  He hasn't forsaken you, and He never will._

And here's this miserable creep.

Took the sacred trust given to him by the Church, by God, and did to little kids what Gonzalez wanted to do to him.  A fucking monster.

Just like Rico Gonzalez.  Except he hurt little kids.  Gonzalez wants to use him, hurt him... this guy did it to little kids.  He's seen victims of child molestation.  They're marked for life.  Many of them never really get over it, dealing with shame and feelings of unworthiness for the rest of their lives.  Many of them turn to drugs, alcohol, crime.  Father Joe might even have met some of his victims here in Sing Sing.

Just like he'd met Rico Gonzalez.

That's not the same thing at all!  Gonzalez deserved to be in here!!  He didn't do anything wrong by putting him away!

Yeah, and who knows why Gonzalez turned out to be the vicious monster he is.  Maybe he has a Father Joe in his past too.

He can't just feed this piece of scum, can't pretend he's just another inmate.  He's even worse than Rico Gonzalez.

Would he feed Gonzalez if he was lying there helpless?  Or would he take revenge, dump the food, make him suffer at least a little bit, as adequate payback for the suffering he caused?

There's nobody in the ward, just him, Father Joe, and another AIDS patient lying sleeping or unconscious two beds away.  Nobody will know if he doesn't bother to feed this piece of shit.  He can dump the food and nobody will know.  Father Joe deserves that and more.  Father Joe deserves to suffer.

Father Joe looks like he is suffering.  He's lying in a bed, mind obviously gone, drooling on himself.  He's in Sing Sing, the closest you can get to Hell and still be alive.  He has AIDS, and Rey's willing to bet he didn't when he came in.  He must have gotten it here, and Rey doubts he got it by sharing needles.

Rey gazes at him, lying in the bed drooling, and the old man finally focuses his eyes and croaks, "Thirsty..."

Rey looks down at his tray.  There's a cup with water, a straw... and the old man is dying, and thirsty.

"God's gonna judge him, so you don't need to," and "Just you remember there's plenty of people here'd like to see you where he is right now," Stephens said.  Very nice.  He's got a cop killer giving him a mini-sermon.

"Thirsty..."

Rey chews on his lip, not knowing what to do.  He knows exactly what he wants to do, to avenge all the kids this freak has hurt.  And let's be honest, for some kind of revenge against Gonzalez too.

How many days has he been inside?  And already he's considering doing something he never would've considered on the outside.  Taking vengeance for one man's actions out on another, a helpless old man lying in an infirmary bed.

No.  That's not who he is.  In the heat of the moment he can and has committed violence.  But premeditated, cold-blooded?  That's not him.  He confessed to as much in court, but when he did that he committed perjury.  Five days inside isn't enough to turn him into the kind of person who can do it for real.

He's already got perjury on his conscience, and that's hard enough to live with.  Taking the name of the Lord and then lying.  No matter how good his reason, it's a sin, a mortal sin, and it gnaws at him.  He doesn't need to add committing an act of vengeance on a helpless old man, no matter what his crimes may have been.  He doesn't need that on his conscience too.

God will judge Father Joe.  He doesn't have to.  He pulls up a chair and brings the straw to Father Joe's lips.  "Here," he tells him, and holds the cup steady as the old man sips.


	3. Cooperation

**CHAPTER III: COOPERATION**

**Reminder: Rating alert!  R for language, violence, sexual situations.**

Rey's back at Block H.  He's missed the movement with the block to and from the cafeteria for dinner, but now it's open social time, two hours to go till lights out.  Tim's got the cards again, and he and Snapple have been joined by a willowy Asian inmate with long hair and makeup.  Tim introduces the new player as Dawn.

Suddenly, Rey spots Gonzalez ambling across the open quad and approaching their table.  He keeps his face blank as Gonzalez pulls out a chair across from him and straddles it, greeting Tim and Snapple and Dawn jovially.  Gonzalez glances at him casually, then looks behind him at the guard station.

"You know you can't stay out here forever, baby," he says quietly.  "There's at least five times and places I can think of before lights out today where there just might not be anybody watching - or anybody who'll give a damn even if they are watching."  Rey remembers the flurry of activity this morning during a sudden 'opportunity'.  And Mackie, who was taken out just like that.

"You wanna stay out here playing cards till lights out?" Gonzalez asks him.  "There's a price.  You do a little something for me, you can stay outta your cell and nobody's gonna bother you again today.  But it's like a toll.  Oh-" he catches sight of somebody else across the open area, "got some business to attend to with that bastard, I'll be back in a bit.  You boys school him," he says to Snapple and Tim over his shoulder as he leaves.

"Toll?"  Rey asks Tim.

"Yeah, a hand job," Tim deals nonchalantly.

He's suddenly intensely nauseated, feeling like a bucketful of cold water has been poured over him.  No, not quite - cold water with dead things in it.

"It's easy, man, you've probably done it to yourself a million times," Snapple says in a disinterested voice, seeing his immediate gut reaction, frowning at his cards.  "And it sure beats a blow or a screw.  Less wear and tear, just wipe it off and keep playing cards."

Wipe it off and keep - Jesus Christ.

"Your hand'll save your mouth and your mouth'll save your ass," Snapple says absently, shifting his cards around.

He knows he's got a completely disgusted expression on his face.

"Just think ketchup bottle," Tim says, and Dawn snickers.

"Ketchup bottle?"

"Yeah, you know the one about the guy who won't marry his girlfriend until she can give him a hand job.  But she doesn't know how, and he's too shy to tell her.  So she goes to her doctor and asks.  And he tells her that it's like shaking ketchup out of a bottle," Tim mimes holding a ketchup bottle in one hand and shaking it up and down to get the ketchup out.  "So she tells her boyfriend that now she knows how, and they get married, and on the wedding night he's all eager and she's all eager and he says are you ready baby and she says oh I'm ready baby, are you ready? And he says yeah and she reaches over and takes him into her hand and-" Tim mimes holding a ketchup bottle steady with one hand while hitting it hard on the upturned bottom with the other.

Rey actually finds himself laughing, unexpectedly.  It's mostly tension, but he's gotta admit that in this nightmare of a place, Tim is pretty funny.  And it's even kind of funny to think of Gonzalez getting the wrong 'ketchup bottle shake' kind of hand job.

"Don't do that, though," Dawn advises him, chuckling. "Rico's not known for his sense of humour."

He sobers up abruptly.  Rico Gonzalez.  Who will kindly let him stay out of his cell and play cards with Tim and Snapple and Dawn out here where the guards can see him, can protect him to a certain extent, provided he gives Gonzalez a hand job.

Cooperate, do whatever it takes, and stay alive.

He tries to think of Deborah's face, the faces of their children.  Tries to remember why he's _not_ going to do his best to kill Gonzalez when he comes back.

He talked to Jack.  Jack's gone to the Warden.  Maybe he can get into Seg.  Please God, maybe he can get into Seg.  Soon.

Just concentrate on the cards now.

===

Two rounds later, Gonzalez sits down next to him.  The same man who tried to rape him just yesterday, sitting next to him.  Snapple deals him in like it's the most normal thing in the world.  They play cards for a while and he feels ill, trying to concentrate on the cards and trying to not think about yesterday.  His arm burns where the shiv sliced it.  Where the hell are the guards? But of course they won't do anything, Gonzalez isn't threatening him in any way they can see.  It's just a friendly game of cards.

"Ready to pay the toll, baby?" Gonzalez grins at him.  Angles himself so that the guards up top can't see, because the table is blocking their view of Gonzalez' lower body.  He unzips, makes a motion at Rey.

"What, here?" he asks, startled.

"Right here, right now.  Pay now or pay later, babe, your choice, but you won't like what you'll have to pay later."  Tim keeps his cards up, not looking at him.  Snapple blows his nose, curses his cold.  Dawn purses her lips and inspects her nails.

"Don't have all day, chico.  Come on."  He can feel Gonzalez's body heat, the guy is sitting so close.  Can't do this, have to, can't, have to, can't, have to.  Remember the girls, remember Deborah, you've got to come home to them some day.  Alive.

Gonzalez reaches out, takes his right hand and starts to move it down under the table.  He automatically pulls back, and Gonzalez reminds him softly, "Now or later, this or more, it's your choice," and he forces himself to stop resisting.  Puts down his cards and covers his eyes, sickened, and Gonzalez whispers, "Pick up the cards, baby."  He picks them up again as Gonzalez guides his hand.

Get used to this.  You're gonna be here for a long, long time. This is not as bad as what could be happening.

Do whatever it takes and stay alive.

Crawling revulsion in his stomach. Just do it.  Don't think don't think, just do it.  You've done this to yourself a million times.  Ketchup bottle.  Gonzalez makes an encouraging sound.  Just do it.  Get it over with.  Pretend you're not here, this has nothing to do with you.  Get him off quick, wipe it off and keep playing cards.  Don't throw up.  This doesn't mean anything.  You're not even here.  Gonzalez is smiling and closing his eyes.  Come on, come on, just come already.  Gonzalez touches him, "Slow down, chico, I wanna enjoy this."

Tim and Snapple and Dawn are still playing cards, Snapple even asks Rey "How's your hand?" and Gonzalez laughs.

"All right for a new boy, but he'll havta learn finesse," he says, a little breathless.  Snapple looks up, a bit surprised since that wasn't what he meant at all, he actually forgot what was going on under the table and forgot Rey wasn't playing this round.  Laughs, then meets Rey's anguished eyes and shrugs apologetically.

"Sorry man, but that was kinda funny."  Just come already, for Christ's sake.  Just come before I throw up.

There.  Gonzalez makes a choking sound and climaxes.  Frozen in time, Gonzalez holds his hand in place.  Then gives him a napkin.  "Clean up time, baby," he says, and Rey wipes him off, profoundly nauseated, grateful that by some miracle he didn't get any of this... stuff on himself and reminding himself that he is not here.  Gonzalez gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder, zips up and stands, saying, "Not bad, there you go, and you're free as a bird till tomorrow."

Dawn's shuffling the deck, nonchalantly saying "You in this one?" while Rey's stomach tries to convince the rest of him to let it throw up.  While Rey's mind tries to make sure that his stomach doesn't do that, because throwing up would mean having to go someplace where the guards can't see him. He's trembling, arms crossed tightly, head bowed, lips pressed tightly together, trying to steady his breathing.  More revolted and appalled then he can ever remember being in his life.  Feeling filthier than he can ever remember feeling, even after a one-night stand, and that was as low as he'd ever felt before.  Feeling like he could stay in a shower for a year and still never, ever be clean again.

Tim looks over at him.  "You OK?"

"Y-yeah." He swallows again and again.  Better get used to this. "Deal me in," he says, and takes his cards.

===

It's almost lights out.  Dawn's gone to watch TV and it's just him, Tim and Snapple again.  They've played poker and checkers, and now they're playing gin.

Tim's trying to make casual conversation but Rey's not in the mood.  He answers in monosyllables until Snapple sighs impatiently and says, "Get over it, Rey.  You know it coulda been much worse.  Hand job's just about the easiest thing you can do in here.  It's better than a blow job, and a blow job is better than getting fucked."

"Oh, I dunno, sometimes I prefer blow jobs to hand jobs myself.  At least you usually do that in private," comments Tim, and scowls at his cards.

"Yeah, but it's a lot more work." Tim nods absently, conceding the point and then smiles as he gets a card he wanted.

It's unbelievable. People discussing what form of sexual assault they prefer, like they'd discuss how they like their coffee.  This is a nightmare.  Is he ever gonna wake up?

Yeah, in about six years.

"You lucked out with Rico though," Snapple comments.

"What?!"

"You're his.  You don't have to worry about being community property, he's staked you out," explains Tim.  He picks up a card and grins triumphantly.  "Gin!" he lays down his cards and Snapple swears.

Rey's speechless for a moment.  "I'm supposed to be happy Gonzalez put a claim on me?!" he finally asks in disbelief.

"Well, not the fact that it's Rico.  I mean, one on one, Rico's no prize.  He treats his boys like crap.  But one on one beats ten on one any day.  Keep him happy and he'll keep everyone else away."

"Although he might lend you out once in a while," says Snapple, shuffling.

"Not often, though, Rico doesn't like to share," Tim reassures him.

Lend him out, like a library book.  He's been feeling deeply nauseated since yesterday, and this conversation isn't helping.  And thinking about tomorrow brings an overwhelming sense of dread.  He finds himself actually saying, exasperated, "Why - why doesn't he just... get it over with then?  If, if he's claimed me and he's gonna do me, why doesn't he just - just get it over with? What's with this 'paying a toll' shit?  Is this some kind of sick prison courtship?"

"Rico's a sadist.  He knows you're here for, what, six years?  He's got time.  And he knows you're scared.  He's keeping you twisting in the wind.  He's gonna take his time, every step of the way, a little worse every time," Tim informs him dryly.  He pauses and adds, meeting Rey's eyes compassionately, "He also knows it eats away at you more if he can get you to consent."  Rey looks away, biting his lip.

"Believe me, by the time he pops your cherry it'll almost be a relief," adds Snapple in the closest approach to sympathy he's heard in this place.

Rey tries to think about this rationally as he takes his cards.  If he can get Rico to draw this out a few more days, just a few more days, he might get into Seg before anything horrible happens.

At least, anything more horrible than having been forced to jerk him off.

===

Finally, lights out.  They're counted one last time, then locked into their cells for the night.  And Rey steadfastly refuses to let himself think about what happened today, what will probably happen tomorrow.

Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever.

I can't forgive this trespass against me.  I can't.  I won't.

Deliver me from this.  Let me go into Seg soon.

===

_Day 7_

_Monday, December 29_

It's after breakfast and work-up is being delayed for a cell search.  The inmates of Block H are all in the common area and Rey, Tim and Snapple are back to playing gin.  He plays for an hour, steadily growing more and more tense the longer work-up is delayed, until suddenly he can't take it, can't take acting like everything's just peachy.

"How can you stand this?" he asks Tim.  Tim shrugs.

"I've been here a while.  You just... you get used to it.  You get used to anything.  Besides, it's not quite as bad for me, I like guys."

"What?"

"I'm bisexual."

He feels a sudden sharp spike of alarm, danger from an unexpected source.  He puts his cards down, involuntarily moving his chair back slightly.  Tim chuckles, amused.

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not coming on to you.  Although after you've been here long enough, you ever wanna deepen the friendship, just say the word, Rey," he smiles.

He blinks.  "Why would I want - god, why would _anybody_ wanna have sex with another man when they don't have to?" he's incredulous.  "Especially if they're already doing it against their will?"

"'Cause you're not having sex when they're doing you, you're servicing," Snapple says.  "Whoring.  Even whores get horny, you know - wanna have sex with someone else and actually enjoy it.  And a guy gets the urge to be a guy again, in here."

"And you can be a guy by voluntarily having sex with another guy?" he asks Snapple.  Are you listening to yourself?  he wants to ask him.

"You get a chance to pitch, not just catch," Tim explains with a grin.

"Catching ain't always so bad either if you're with someone nice," says Snapple. "Some of 'em wanna pretend you're their girlfriend or their wife, they treat you pretty good.  Don't count on it with Rico though."

"Like Corini, he's a real sweetheart," Tim points out.

"Yeah, he don't do brown sugar though.  He's strictly vanilla.  Sorry, Rey."

Rey shakes his head, suddenly understanding Alice in Wonderland like he never did before.  This is all completely insane, like a mirror universe in a science fiction show.  Tim Bayliss, whom he worked with several times and who seemed a normal enough kind of guy, is playing cards and saying the most unbelievable things.  Living the most unbelievable life.  And now he's supposed to live that life too?  No way.

"Marcus is nice too.  Not like Rico at all.  Rico's not too much into pain, but he's sure into degradation."

Degradation.  Yeah, that pretty much describes it.  Describes how he feels.  Degraded.

"Marcus ain't.  I went with him for a few months, real nice guy," Snapple smiles nostalgically.

"What, you play for both teams too?" Rey shuffles his cards around.  Just concentrate on the game.  Let's see, if he can get the eight of diamonds...

"Naw, man, not me.  The day I get outta here is the last time I'll take it up the ass for anybody."  Rey suppresses a grimace.  Snapple's a nice enough guy, but he's more than a little crude.  Hm, nine of diamonds, that could be useful too.  Snapple continues, blithely unaware of Rey's disgust.  "I'm just practical.  You know the old saying, if rape is inevitable, just lie back and enjoy it."

Suddenly the ever-present low-lying nausea spikes and he's gonna lose it.  No mind-over-matter can overcome this, he's swallowing bile and putting his forehead against the table and desperately trying to keep his lunch down-

"Yo Tim!" Snapple says sharply.  Tim stands up and leans close,

"Rey, my cell's right over there, three steps away.  You're not gonna make it to your own, so if you don't wanna hurl out here, follow me."

He quickly stands and follows Tim the few steps to his cell, barely making it to the toilet before his lunch comes up and he's letting it go, as close to relief as anything gets in this hellish place.  Finally there's nothing left except dry heaves, but he can't seem to stop.  Tim puts a hand on his arm, concerned, and he knocks it away reflexively before he even realizes he's doing it.

"Easy, easy," Tim soothes.  "I'll be right at the doorway."

He keeps heaving, even though there's nothing left and his sides ache from the bruised ribs and the convulsive retching.

"Been there," Tim says from the doorway.  "You'll get used to it."

"I don't wanna... get used to this, Tim," he manages to gasp between spasms.

"You'll have to."

He pictures himself years from now, playing cards with some newbie, telling him who the sweethearts are around here, the ones who'll be nice and not hurt him too badly.  Pictures himself nonchalantly playing cards while a new guy is degraded right in front of him, hand job under the table, so what, old news. Pictures himself joking about rape being inevitable.

I don't want to get used to this.

Jesus Christ and Mary Mother of God, don't let me get like that.  Don't let anything more happen to me.  God in Heaven, please, please, I can't live through this.  Maybe if I'd come here a few years ago, when I was stronger, I might have been able to.  But now... I can't.  God, please, if You're out there at all, please, please, don't let that man come near me again.  Please God.

===

Finally the guards are done.  The nine guys who were caught with contraband have been led out to the Hole and the rest of them are sent to their cells to be counted again before being allowed out for work-up.  He's about to go down the stairs to the common area when Gonzalez appears and motions to him to follow.  Rey makes himself take a deep breath and blank his mind, just not think about anything.  There's barely five minutes before the guards open the gates of the block and let the inmates out to their work areas.  Not much can happen in five minutes.  Gonzalez stops them behind a thick post, still in view if anybody happens to be looking, but out of main sight of the block.  He grins and then peers at Rey closely.

"How come you didn't shave?"

"No time," Rey answers shortly.  He didn't have time this morning before breakfast, and after breakfast the cell search kept him out of his cell.  Besides, it's not like he has to shave for the office or anything.  The fact that he showers makes him about ten times more presentable than half the guys around here.  Most inmates don't seem too concerned with hygiene or appearance.

"Don't hide this pretty face, baby," says Gonzalez, stroking his cheek.  He flinches automatically, helpless to stop, drawing away from Gonzalez's touch, but Gonzalez follows.  "My boys don't get beards, sweetheart," he says, "I don't like stubble.  Shave it off."

He stares at Gonzalez, wondering if he should defy him on this or not.  Is it worth it?  Gonzalez leans in closer and it takes all of Rey's willpower to not back away.  Gonzalez presses their lips together and forces his mouth open, pulling him closer and pawing at him, and he's able to take it for only a few seconds before his body moves of its own volition and he can't help it, he takes a step back and puts his hand out.

"N-no," he stammers, fighting the urge to spit and trying hard not to throw up again, still feeling hands all over him even though Gonzalez isn't actually touching him any more.  Gonzalez smirks at him.  This really has very little to do with sex to him, Rey knows.  It's all about power, all about humiliating him.  He doubts Gonzalez gets any kind of physical pleasure out of kissing him, or whatever you'd call what he just did - but he's well aware that it turns Rey's stomach and that's what he gets off on.

"That's OK, baby," he smiles, "We can take our time.  I gotta get to work anyway."  He changes the subject and draws a finger down Rey's left forearm, over the bandage.  "You know I usually mark my property, cut my initial on their shoulder.  But you already got a nice big Rico stamp on you, that cut on your arm.  And it's not on your shoulder where you can forget about it, it's right where you can see it.  It's not my name, but it's gonna stare at you for the rest of your life, snaking down, saying I claimed you. Everybody's gonna be able to see it.  Your friends... your _wife_," he draws the word out and smiles nastily, "the lady at the cash register in the grocery store.  You put me in here, but I put you in Hell, Detective Curtis.  I win, you lose."

===

After lunch there's another cell search.  Apparently the guards don't normally search twice in the same block, so every once in a while they do, just to catch guys off guard.

"Really?  Guys?" he asks Tim partway through a poker round.

"Yeah."

"Is that just because of here..."

"Oh, no, I was bi outside too."

"Did anybody know?"

"Yeah, actually, they did.  My whole precinct, as a matter of fact."

"You're kidding."  He can't quite imagine everybody at a precinct knowing that one of their own goes both ways.  Cops don't tend to be the most open-minded people in the world.

"Nope."

"And they were OK with it?"

"More or less.  There were some dirty looks and jokes and stuff, some unpleasantness, but overall it wasn't that big a deal."

"Frank Pembleton knew?"

"Yeah," Tim smiles slightly.  "Said I was 'confused', but it wasn't a big deal to him either."

Rey shakes his head.  O... K...  He just can't picture Tim's partner Frank being open-minded or accepting.

"It's not that different, Rey.  Men, women - they're all the same."

"You've been away from women way too long if you really believe that, Tim."

Tim chuckles.  "A body's a body.  A person's a person."

"I'd rather take your word for it than find out."

Rey thinks about what Tim has said.  Not that big a difference between men and women.  A body's a body, a person's a person.  Even what's happened, what's going to happen with Rico, if you think about it, it's not really that different from what he's already done.  His body used by a stranger for sexual relief... not that different from what he did with the women he picked up.  He used them, and they used him.  The only difference is the gender and the fact that he chose to be with them.

Although that's a pretty big difference.  That left him feeling dirty and ashamed, this... this is gonna kill him.

So why is it such a big deal?  Is it just a hang-up?  He remembers a gay friend of his in college laughingly calling him a 'Kinsey -1' once, referring to the Kinsey scale of 0 - 6 where 0 was exclusively heterosexual, 3 was bisexual, and 6 was homosexual.  Rey wouldn't have gone that far - he'd wondered about other boys once or twice when he was maybe thirteen or so - but sex had just always meant women for him.  He had nothing against gays, other than a squeamish wish to not see them do anything in public.  He didn't think he was that hung up about it.  Men had made passes at him before.  It annoyed him, especially when it happened around Lennie who always teased him mercilessly about it, but he was never particularly bothered by it.

It's not the gender primarily.  It's the whole predator-prey aspect of it.  This is a hell of a place to get initiated into same-sex activity.  It's... it's intolerable.  Seeing other men as predators, knowing he's being checked out like a piece of meat... it's revolting.  If this is how women feel when men ogle them, he's baffled that women ever want to have sex at all.  He can't imagine himself ever wanting to have sex again.  With anybody, male or female.

Stop thinking about it.  Just play cards.

===

The cell search is taking forever.  They've already caught four guys.  All of a sudden Gonzalez is back.

"Hey Dawn, how ya doin', dollface," he approaches their table.

"Piss off, Rico, you know Jerry said you talk to me, you're gonna lose your cojones," she smiles at him sweetly.

"You know sugar, I'd be real worried about that if Jerry had any cojones of his own," he remarks.  Dawn rolls her eyes.

"OK, baby, time to pay the toll again," he sits next to Rey.  Rey's stomach clenches and he can't breathe.

"Good boy, you shaved, nice and smooth as a baby's butt," Gonzalez strokes his cheek, and Rey jerks his face away.  "Now that's not nice, I just paid you a compliment, Detective Curtis.  Don't you know you should say thanks?"

Don't feel rage.  Clamp it down.  He wants you to snap so he can hurt you.  It's a game to him.

"Come on, you can say it," whispers Rico, stroking his cheek, and it's taking all he has just to stay still.  "Say it in real talk, baby, say Gracias, chico."

"Gracias."

"Muy bien, chico," Rico smiles.  He smirks at Rey, angles himself under the table, unzips again.  "A little slower this time, baby," he says, "Take your time, let's enjoy this," and Rey shivers.

OK, OK, you've done this before, you can get through this.  You're not even here.  This isn't happening to you.

He can't force himself to move.

"Come on, I don't have all day."

He can't make himself move.  It's like he's paralyzed.

"Sweetheart, this shy thing ain't my style.  I ain't gonna show you what to do every time," Rico's voice is getting irate.  "Your choice, and you know what's gonna happen if you don't.  We can take this nice and slow or quick and real, real painful."

Move, he tells himself.  Cooperate, do whatever it takes.  Just a couple more days and maybe you can get to Seg.

He can't move.

"You gonna do this or what, babe?"

He can't.

"Answer me.  You don't got the right to remain silent. I don't let my boys get uppity.  You gonna do this?"

"Yes," he forces himself to say.  Tim's looking at him, worried.

"So do it already."

He nods.  Starts to move his hand to the edge of the table and then realizes he can't.  Rico is probably going to kill him, but he can't.  And no amount of thinking about what's the smart thing or the prudent thing to do is helping, he just plain can't do this.  He shakes his head and crosses his arms.

Tim kicks him under the table, eyes warning him.

Gonzalez grabs his elbow and Rey pulls away and scrapes his chair back, his body instantly geared up for a fight, poised to spring out of his chair.  No way.  He can't.  He won't.  And Gonzalez can't make him.  He and Gonzalez lock eyes for a long, tense moment, then Gonzalez's gaze flicks up to the guard station.  There's a guard staring straight at them.

Gonzalez zips up, stands.

"Sweetheart, that was a real dumb-ass choice.  Those hacks don't give a shit about you.  They hate you almost as much as us cons do, 'cause you used to be one of them.  And you're gonna pay for this, 'cause no boy of mine refuses me."

He leans down, gives Rey a kiss on the cheek, whispers, "Later, baby," and leaves.

Dawn purses her lips and plays a card, gazing after Gonzalez thoughtfully.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Snapple hisses at him angrily.  "He's gonna kill you.  _Nobody_ says no to Rico."

===

Security's cancelled work-up for the afternoon.  He's been told he may be called into the infirmary anyway since they're somewhat short-staffed, but there's too much going on in the institution to spare a guard to escort orderlies to the infirmary right now.  So he sits and waits, with the other inmates of Block H, whiling away the afternoon while the guards search.  Trying not to think about the consequences of his defiance.

"Why aren't you in Seg?" he asks Tim as he deals the cards.

"Requested out."

"You're kidding," he finishes dealing.  "Twos and Jacks are wild."

"I'd rather be out here than go crazy alone all the time," Tim surveys his cards and frowns.  "Besides, I'm uh, I'm an independent agent now, I choose who I go with for protection."

"How long you been in?"

"Three years, now.  One in Seg, two in Gen Pop."

"How'd you get to be an independent agent?"

"Killed the last guy who forced me," he discards an eight of hearts, picks up a card.  "Murder gives you a certain status in here, even if you are an ex-cop."

He said it so casually.  'Killed the last guy who forced me', and then played a card.  "Were you convicted?"

"Yeah, Murder Two again, but I was already doing life."

"How come you didn't get Justifiable Homicide?"

"In prison?  You're dreaming.  I was a murderer already."

"Wasn't it self-defense?"

"He wasn't trying to kill me, Rey.  He wasn't gonna do anything that hadn't been done to me by him and a bunch of other guys a hundred times.  Plus I'm bisexual, I couldn't even have proved none of it was consensual."

Rey shakes his head as he discards.  "How'd you do it?"

"Shiv to the throat in his sleep."

That probably wouldn't count as self-defense.  "In his sleep?  What, was he napping?"

"No, at night.  We were cellies."

"Oh my God," he blurts out, horrified, his cards forgotten.  Pictures trying to go to sleep in the same cell as Rico Gonzalez.  Having literally nowhere safe to go.  No safe time in the day.  The knife-edged fear he's trying to ignore right now following him even after lights out.  Mother of God.

"Yeah.  For two months," Tim nods towards Rey's cards, reminding him it's his turn to play.

Two months.  Sixty days.  Sixty nights.  "Why'd you finally do it?"

"Just got tired of it.  Tired of being traded around like a baseball card."  Rey raises his eyebrows.  "He was pimping me out."

"Jesus."

"Yeah.  It's a thriving business.  They decide price, then tell you what to do, who to go with.  I got tired of paying for his coke on my back."

Rey swallows hard.  Tim Bayliss used to be a Homicide detective.  Once upon a time he was a law abiding, taxpaying citizen.  He argued with Frank Pembleton and flirted outrageously with Claire Kincaid.  And now he's dispassionately talking about knifing some guy who forced him to turn tricks to support his drug habit.  "You get any choice?"

"Not normally.  It's not a democracy, you know.  No one's gonna ask your opinion here, Rey.  Nobody cares."

"I know that," he plays a card.  He has no idea about the details of Tim's crime.  None of them have talked about the crimes that landed them here, beyond the bare facts - that's probably some kind of prison etiquette.  He doesn't care, he can't imagine a crime bad enough to warrant that kind of punishment.  Well, he can - Father Joe comes to mind - but he's pretty sure Tim didn't do anything like that.  "So you killed him."

"Yup."

He finds himself realizing that he'd really like to kill Rico too.  Not just the way people say 'I wanna kill that idiot' casually when somebody cuts them off in traffic, but actually, really, kill.  Plunge a knife into him and watch his life bleed away.  Grab a gun from a guard and shoot him through the head, splatter his brains against the wall.  He pushes those thoughts away.  "What'd you get?"

"Twenty-five to life on top of the life term I already had."

"Why, you getting pointers?" asks Snapple half-jokingly.

"No.  That's not a choice for me.  I'm out in six.  I don't wanna add one day to that."

"Then get used to being Rico's toy," Tim tells him bluntly.  "Cooperate and hope Rico gets tired of you real quick and passes you off to somebody better."

Cooperate and stay alive.

He thinks about his complete inability to let Rico Gonzalez use him this afternoon.  About the instant devastating nausea that accompanies the slightest reminder of the hand job, Rico's mouth on his, the groping at his pants.

"I can't.  I can't do it," he realizes.  "I know I should go along with this, but I can't.  Not even to save my life."

Tim gazes at him speculatively.  "No, you really can't, can you?"

"I need to get into Seg."

"Won't happen anytime soon," Snapple says definitively.  "The Warden hates boys in blue who let law enforcement down, and the head guard in Block H agrees with him.  They'll want you to be taught a lesson first, and it looks like Rico's your teacher."

"What about getting sent to the Hole?"

"Well, you could..."

"If I steal from the infirmary the nurse said I'll be in for days."

"Yeah, but then you'd lose the infirmary job.  That's a pretty good place to be, you don't wanna lose that," says Tim.

"If you want, I can pick a fight with you, we'll both get thrown in," Snapple offers helpfully.  "Good for twenty-four hours at a time.  I could use a holiday, I'd be happy to do it.  You do it too many times, though, and it'll look bad at your parole hearing," he warns.

"The other option's cutting," suggests Tim.

"Cutting?"

"Yeah, cut yourself, like you're trying to kill yourself.  Infirmary until you recover, plus some psych workups.  It usually takes at least two weeks, maybe three or four, before you're back.  It's a little risky though, if you cut too deep.  I almost offed myself the last time."

Rey's staring at him, profoundly disturbed by his casual tone.

"It's not that hard," Tim shows him.  He's seen the scars before, flashing past as Tim deals the cards, but never really looked.  Now he examines the tracks on Tim's wrists, the stitches marching across.  There appears to be more than one cut on each wrist, but the tissue is so mangled it's hard to tell.

"Three times," Tim answers his unspoken question cheerfully.  "Get enough brew or dope in you and you won't even feel a thing."

===

It's mid-afternoon and the guards get a request to bring the men with jobs labeled 'essential', like the kitchen, infirmary, and a few other places, to work.  Factory and other non-essential jobs are called off for the day.

Finally.  The safety of the infirmary.  He's put to work preparing meds, each patient's pills on a little dish with a cup of water next to it, gradually filling a tray.  Suddenly he hears Rico's voice and looks up, his heart sinking.  Rico apparently works in the laundry room, and he's bringing fresh linens into the infirmary.  Isn't there any place in Sing Sing where he can actually let down his guard?

He's sick of this.  The fear, the all-consuming dread that he lives with, eats with, goes to sleep with, the rage that he suppresses for survival's sake.  Rico spots Rey, grins and ambles over, casually leaning against the counter for a few minutes.

"Nice job you got here, baby.  Sure beats the kitchen.  That's where I used to work."  Rey keeps his eyes on the scrips and the bottles, working silently.  "Hey, you know what?  I'm thinking of asking for your transfer to my cell."

The bottle he's holding suddenly spills its contents onto the tray.  He bites his lip and starts picking up the little pills and putting them back in the bottle, trying to keep his hands from shaking visibly.  Rico smirks at him, pleased with his reaction.

"I'm not real happy with you, you know.  You gotta learn your place and I don't think a toll once a day is gonna do it," Rico says seriously, keeping his voice low.  "I can bribe the guards and there's not a damn thing you can do about it, baby.  We'd have lotsa time to get to know each other real well.  I dunno, though... you'd have to take good care of me.  Do my laundry just the way I like it, make my bed, tidy up... whaddaya think?"

I think if it was just your housework you'd have yourself a deal, it's the other 'duties' you want me to take on that I'm not too keen on.  He doesn't say it out loud though.  He doesn't say much to Rico.  The whole time he's been in here, he's said maybe ten words to the man.  Rico's sure done a lot of talking, though, and all of it ugly and foul.  It's like that children's story about the two sisters, one of them whenever she spoke frogs and toads and snakes dropped out of her mouth.  That's Rico.

The other sister, when she talked, diamonds and pearls and rubies fell from her lips.  There's nobody like that in Sing Sing.

It's all frogs and toads and snakes.  Every word spoken here is as ugly as sin.

===

Once he finishes the meds he does the spoon-feedings.  More yellow jello from Chen.  Then there's the meds for inmates who have prescriptions but who aren't in the infirmary, one little labeled Ziploc bag per inmate.  Apparently the guards are supposed to take the meds out to the cellblocks every morning and give them to each inmate in their cell before letting them out.  It's relatively easy work - matching names to bottles and bags.  From what he remembers of pharmacology, they're mostly prescriptions for antibiotics, heart conditions, diabetes, AIDS-related illnesses, some anti-psychotics, sedatives, and a whole whackload of anti-depressants.  He finds his own prescription among them - good, he thought it hadn't followed him from Riker's.

Oh, that's going to be bad, taking it in the morning.  It's supposed to be taken at night so the sedative effects don't interfere with daily life.  Maybe he can talk to the doctor here after he's done.  Although he doesn't hold out much hope for a change; if meds are taken in the morning here, then they're taken in the morning, and no con is gonna get special consideration.  He'll probably just have to get used to it or find some way around it, like faking taking it in the morning and holding on to it until night.

Damn it.  How many days has he been in?  And he's already slipped into the inmate mentality of getting around the rules.

Well, yeah, but when the rules are totally arbitrary, might put you in danger, and you have no power to change them...

As he's finishing his work, a guard comes in asking for him.

"Curtis! You've got a lawyer visit."

Jack?  Hopefully there's news about his transfer.  He checks out with the nurse and changes into the tans - Chen's lunch is all over the whites again - and the guard cuffs him and leads him out.

===

An hour later, Father Morelli, Jack and Lennie have left and Rey's waiting for the guard.

"Curtis?  Back to Block H."

"I'm on shift at the infirmary till six."

"Nah, you're going back to the block.  Everybody's being returned."

"But-"

"Hey, just be glad it's not a lockdown yet, pal," the guard chuckles, "With the amount of crap we've found, you're lucky the Warden hasn't shut the whole place down.  Now come on."

On the way, Rey thinks about the meeting.  Father Morelli told Judge Greico that his mother confessed she was thinking of committing suicide.  He just might get out.  He might be able to walk out of here, some day soon.  No more handcuffs, no more count-ups, and most importantly no more Rico Gonzalez.

He can't allow himself to hope.  And he can't let himself think about any of it - his mother's suicide, Father Morelli breaking the sanctity of confession, Morelli claiming responsibility for much of what he's gone through in the last few years... it's too much to think about and he'll have plenty of time after they're locked into their cells for the night.  Right now, the only thing he needs to focus on is the fact that he's going to be back on the block and lights out is 4 1/2 hours away and somehow he has to stay safe until then.

The one thing he can let himself feel is a sense of relief about his perjury.  He was able to confess, talk it over with Father Morelli, and receive absolution for his sin.  The relief of that weight being lifted is almost palpable.

===

"Hey," a stocky black inmate approaches their table.  "Pick-up basketball.  Hacks said it's OK.  You guys in?"

"Sure," Tim and Snapple chorus enthusiastically, and get up.

"You?" the inmate asks Rey.  Rey looks at him, not sure about this.  "Come on, it'll do you good," the guy urges him.  "Lets the adrenaline out, you know?"

"It's a little rough, though," Snapple comments, looking at Rey's arm.

"What, you think he's scared of a few bumps and bruises?" the inmate glances at Rey, "Wouldn't have figured you for a coward," he mocks.  Rey keeps his eyes down on the table.  Don't feel anger, don't feel anger.

The inmate straddles a chair next to Rey.  "Hey, you know Australian Rules soccer?"  Rey looks up.  "Australians are pussies," the man grins widely.  "C'mon.  It'll be fun.  You look like you could use a tension-breaker."

Rey glances over at Tim, who shrugs.  He probably shouldn't play, with his arm recently hurt, but... it would be nice to do something to not feel so damn tense.  Cards just isn't doing it.

"I'm surprised they let you guys play," he mutters to Tim.  He's definitely gotten the impression that they don't mix much with the other inmates around here.

"You're one of 'us guys', Rey," Tim reminds him without malice.  "And they let us play 'cause we're damn good," he adds cheerfully.

"You - uh, we don't have our own team?  The Pariahs?" Rey asks.

"Nah.  We used to," Snapple says, "Apparently a few years ago a bunch of the lowest of the low did make up their own team.  The Powers That Be never let it happen again 'cause they kicked ass."

Rey raises his eyebrows.

"Those guys... they don't have anything to prove.  They don't have their manhood challenged," Snapple's voice is bitter, and for the first time Rey can see the pain that he hides underneath his casual acceptance of his situation.  "Us... we got something to prove.  And we fucking well prove it," he says grimly.  And then he's smiling again, eager to play ball, and the momentary glimpse of bitterness is gone as if it had never happened.

The men who are going to play are gathered in a group in a hastily cleared up area of the quad.  Two captains are choosing their teams.  Rey swallows hard as he realizes Gonzalez is going to play too.  He wonders if he should back out, but realizes this is probably the safest place to be, since a few guards are settling to watch the game along with most of the inmates.  And, more importantly, he doesn't want to back out.  He's damn good at basketball - or at least, he was the last time he played.

A guy gets the urge to be a guy in here, Snapple said.  It's true.  And personally, he'd much rather be a guy by playing basketball than 'deepening a friendship' with anybody.

The players are chosen quickly.  Tim and Snapple are among the first picked.  Rey and Rico end up on the same team, to the amusement of the other players and the audience.

OK.  He takes a moment to clear any and all thoughts about anything that's not basketball out of his head.

Snapple's on his team too, and Tim's on the other team.  Thankfully, Rey's team is shirts and the others are skins - he wouldn't particularly want to show the world the bruises covering his upper body.  No point letting Rico score more macho points.

The game begins.  There's no slow warm-up, getting a feel for the court, the other team.  It's a sudden jump from a bunch of guys standing around with a ball to two groups of men out to kill each other - oh, and put a ball in a basket too, if they have time.

And that's perfect.  Rey's always loved basketball, the fast pace, the constant motion, the electric charge of scoring baskets.  This is a lot rougher than any game he's ever played. You don't just shadow or crowd an opponent in Sing Sing basketball - you do your best to annihilate them.  He gets tripped and elbowed a couple of times before he gets his mind around the concept of no referees and no holds barred.

But it's actually amazingly easy to get into that too, and soon he's giving as good as he gets.  The only rules that stay the same are the rules that govern how many steps you can take with the ball and other non-etiquette-related things like that.  Elbows, knees, tripping, hitting the ball out of the opponent's hands, it's all permissible.  It's exhilarating.

He sees an opening, takes it, dribbles to the basket, all of a sudden two skins are crowding him and he passes to a teammate in the open, not even registering that it's Rico until Rico scores.  But it doesn't matter, because the game's still going, and the other team is heading towards their basket, Tim's got the ball and Snapple trips him and sends him flying and grabs the ball on the rebound, passing it to another shirt who passes it to Rico, and then Rico's crowded by two skins and Rey's the only shirt open and he's close to their basket.

"Gonzalez!" he calls, and Rico glances over but holds onto the ball.  And then a skin takes the ball from him, pass, pass, pass, and Tim scores for the skins.

"What the FUCK was that?!" the shirts captain, a guy called Clark, angrily whacks Rico on the back of the head.  Rico whips around with his fist cocked and the game comes to a sudden halt as a guard blows a whistle.

"Everything's fine sir - sorry, my arm slipped," Clark says quickly.  The guard gives him a dark glower and sits back down, signaling to continue the game.  They pick up quickly, and Rey overhears Clark hiss, "I got two words for you, Rico:  'team mate.'  When he's open you fucking well pass to him, got it?"

And then the game's flowing again.  Rey and a skin battle for the ball, and his arm is in agony whenever he stops, but he's usually not stopped for long.  He scores again, feeling that rush as the ball slides into the basket, a good clean shot, not that far away from the basket but drawing cheers anyway because the shot went past three skins who were trying to get the ball away.

He's keeping a skin away from another teammate with the ball when the teammate suddenly calls his name and tries to pass to him, but the pass is blocked by another shirt - what the hell?  And the shirt elbows him on his way to intercept the ball and surprise, surprise, the shirt is Rico.  Rey shoves him back violently as the anger he carries inside bursts out in a totally irrational sense of outrage over this son of a bitch pissing on their team just to score points against him.  Rico whips around and aims a punch at him but he blocks the blow and lunges forward, ready to beat the crap out of him - and then Snapple and Tim are grabbing him and pulling him back and Clark and another player are grabbing Rico too, everybody glancing nervously at the hacks and huddling around, blocking the hack's view of the action.

"Time!!" calls Clark, and the two captains go to the side and converse for a minute while the rest of them stand, chests heaving, dripping with sweat but strangely silent, several players shoving themselves between Rey and Rico.  Rey sees the skins captain peer at him speculatively, then check out a couple of other players.

"Trade.  Rico, you're skins, Smash, you're shirts," Clark calls out.

"WHAT?!" Rico exclaims.

"Gotta split you two up," Clark says casually.

"So you're trading _me_?!"

"He's the better player, Rico," Clark says bluntly.  "Now trade off!"

Rey feels a small thrill of vengeance followed immediately by a sinking sense of dread.  This isn't gonna help him any, judging from the snickers from the inmates and guards watching the game.  He half-hears a few jeers directed at Rico, sees the skins captain murmur a few words at him and gesture towards Rey and then towards the side.  Rey can't hear it, but it seems Rico's being told in no uncertain terms to keep the violence within acceptable limits or get kicked out of the game.  And sure enough, Rico's glaring at him with barely concealed fury, which quickly turns into a cold sneer.  Sure, you win on the court, his face says, and I win everywhere else.

Rico stalks off, drawing off his shirt, and Rey feels another thrill of vengeance as he sees bruises on Rico's ribs.  It seems he did land a few punches the other day after all.

And then the game's moving again, he and Tim battle for the ball, he feints to the side, sets up a shot, and viciously elbows another skin who's crowding a little too close.  The other player whoofs out air and falls back, gasping, "Jesus!" as Rey jumps and the ball goes in.  The shirts are winning.

"Christ, man, Rico's bitten off more than he can chew with this one," the skin mutters to a team-mate, holding his side ruefully.  Rey and Tim have both heard him, and unfortunately, so has Rico.  Tim gives Rey a hard look and shakes his head.  And the game goes on.


	4. Hell

**CHAPTER IV: HELL**

**Reminder: Rating alert!  R for language, violence, sexual situations.**

The basketball game ended an hour ago, when they were supposed to go to dinner, but there was yet another security delay.  Now it looks like the security problem's been taken care of and it's almost time to go.  Almost time to walk past those stairs again and hope that this time the guards are closer.  And Rey's mind and body are tiring of the constant adrenaline overload.

The 'fight or flight' response was meant to help our ancestors fight saber-tooth tigers or flee from rampaging mammoths, a quick flood of adrenaline to heighten the senses and give the muscles and nerves extra juice for an immediate emergency.  It wasn't meant for days of fearing for your life and sanity.  Nowhere to take the 'flight' impulse, forcing down the 'fight' impulse, awaiting the whim of a sadistic animal bent on causing physical and emotional devastation.  Almost no break from the razor-sharp nerves.

Although the basketball game felt pretty good.  It was a nice tension breaker.  And after the game, the shirts had a post-game victory ritual that felt almost normal, slapping each other on the back, commenting on each other's good and bad plays, passing around water bottles.  Even Rey and Snapple were included in the good-natured guy talk, both of them praised for their skill, being pretty much the best players.  They didn't join the other guys when most of them went to the showers, but other than that they were part of the team.  It all felt very normal as long as Rey didn't think too hard about the fact that his team mates were murderers and drug dealers and other kinds of violent felons, that a few years ago he would have been doing his best to put them away, and that outside of the basketball game most of them would be quite happy to see him die, or worse, at the hands of Rico Gonzalez.

The basketball game felt good, at the time, but he knows it's just made things worse.  The fact that the shirts won is not a good thing.  He cost Rico pride.  You just don't make a violent inmate lose face in Sing Sing, not unless you have a death wish.

He's in his cell now, has to be there for count-up, only there's some kind of delay yet again and the guard's not coming.  And nobody's allowed back out into the common area once prep for count-up has started, so even though every instinct is screaming that he needs to get back out in the open, he can't.  His cellmate suddenly ducks into the next cell without looking at him, and he hears a low chuckle and realizes it's no coincidence the guard's been held up.  Because there's Rico.  With three buddies behind him.

He stares at Rico, fists clenching and unclenching, breath shallow.  Don't fight him.  Whatever you do, _don't fight him_.  Don't fight him.  Don't, don't, don't think about how much you want him kill him, how badly you want to beat him into a coma, how much you'd love to slice his throat open.  Just don't.  He's pissed off and he's lost face and the only way he's gonna let you live is if you give in and do whatever he wants.  So do it.  Do whatever he wants and just don't feel anything.

"Here's the deal.  The guard ain't coming for twenty minutes."

You have a wife and daughters to live for.  Just do whatever he wants.

Rico's voice is chillingly jovial as he spells out the situation.  "So.  Last chance.  You want nice and romantic, just you and me, or you wanna be everybody's honey tonight?  Do like I say and we'll just walk down to the cafeteria and have a cozy little wedding night dinner together when we're done.  Try and fight me, and I'll still be your first but I won't be your last.  And if I decide to leave you alive after my pals are done with you, you'll just be community property and I'll be your manager."  Rey swallows hard and Rico smiles.  "Your little friend, Timmy.  He tell you how much fun that was?  He was real popular for a while, I had him myself a buncha times, we all did.  You wanna be popular like him?"

_I got tired of paying for his coke on my back._

"I hand you over to my friends here and you'll have to work real hard to get me to take you back for myself, 'cause I don't like used goods.  So, you gonna do this the easy way?"

_He also knows it eats you up more if he can get you to consent._

It's not consent if it's under duress.  If that's what your problem is, then don't think of it as consent.  Think of it as keeping as much control as you can in a situation where you have almost no control whatsoever.  And don't, don't, don't fight him.

Tim and Snapple survived this, you can too.  It's just your body, it's just a shell, it's not your soul.  He can't touch that.

"Let's do this family style, face to face just like you and your wife," Rico smiles at him sweetly, his expression an appalling obscenity in the face of what he's saying and doing.

Like you and your wife.  He has a sudden image of Deborah.  This may be just a shell but it's helped him touch her soul.  He's felt as close as he could ever feel to another human being when they've shared their bodies with one another, never mind that because of her illness they haven't done what most people think of when they think of having sex.

Sudden tears spring to his eyes and he quickly looks down and blinks them away before Rico can see them.  Sex is never going to be the same after this.  He's never, ever going to want to let another person near him again.  He can't even imagine wanting Deborah to ever touch him again, not like that, not after having intimacy perverted into this abomination.

If he had just forced himself to cooperate with Rico earlier today and 'paid the toll' again, he could have avoided this.

"OK, sweetheart, come on, shirt off."

Consent isn't consent if it's under duress.  If you can't say no, then you can't say yes.  He starts to unbutton his shirt, fingers trembling.  Rico motions to Harris's bed and Rey slowly sits.  "Lie back, chico."

He forces himself to lie down, shivering uncontrollably and focusing on the slats of the bunk bed above him.  This doesn't mean anything.  You're not here.  Go somewhere else in your mind.  God help me, God help me to not feel anything.  God help me to not fight this.  God help me to accept this and survive.

Rico sits on the bed, smirking.  He sits for a long moment while Rey concentrates on the slats above him and tries to make himself stop shivering, knowing that his visible terror is what gratifies Rico the most, that without even laying a hand on him Rico's getting off on his anguish.  Then Rico draws closer and lies down, smiling in approval as Rey keeps himself still.

His approval doesn't last very long.  Suddenly the reality of how horrifying it feels to be touched by Rico, the sense of violation just from Rico's mouth on his, and the certainty that anything else will destroy him, decides Rey's actions for him.  His rational mind is pushed aside by his body's instinctive need to keep Rico away as long as possible and to hell with the consequences.  He shoves Rico off, scrambles off the bed and backs away, panic and revulsion rapidly spiraling out of his control.  Rico falls to the floor cursing and makes a motion to his friends, who've been watching at the entrance to the cell.

And as every muscle and nerve in Rey's body kicks into overdrive, he knows he's lost before he even starts fighting.  He won't be taken down without a fight, but he knows he will be taken down, there's too many of them and he's already injured.  He catches a glimpse of other inmates peering through the bars, silent so that the guards won't hear, but grinning and getting ready to enjoy a show.  Rico and his buddies are all crowding him and there's a hand over his mouth and then it's replaced by a gag, somebody kicks him in the ribs and he doubles over and he's thrown onto the floor, and then there's hands grabbing at him, grunts and curses whenever he's able to land a kick or an elbow to the gut, and his nails are scrabbling against the floor as he desperately tries to get up, somebody's hissing "Hold him down" and this is gonna happen and there's not a damn thing he can do about it, shirt ripped open, hands groping at him, fumbling at his fly again, and he's fighting with every ounce of strength he has and it's not enough, it's not enough, he can feel Rico's breath in his ear saying "You better relax baby, or this is going to hurt a lot, this is gonna hurt a whoole lot," and God please let me pass out, please let me not be here for this

"Rico, Rico, come on, count-up!!  Come on, zip up and take your Backstreet Boys with you, for Chrissakes," an annoyed voice cuts through the muted sounds of the scuffle, and all of a sudden he's free and an irate guard is saying, "Get up and do up your damn shirt, get outta your cell, it's count-up time."

He spits out the gag and just lies on the floor for a moment, chest heaving, heart racing.  A firm, impersonal hand is held out, helping him up.  "Oh - you're missing a couple buttons."

He's shivering again, can't make himself meet the guard's eyes as he tucks his shirt back in.  He tastes blood - he must have bitten his lip or maybe one of them hit him across the mouth, he doesn't remember.

"You're a little older than Rico usually goes for.  How'd you get on his radar, snitch on him?  Sleep with his wife?"

He shakes his head mutely.

"Oh-" the guard glances at his name tag.  "You're Curtis the cop, right?  Whadja do, arrest him?"

He can't speak, just nods.  He's covered in sweat but feels like he's freezing, probably in shock.

The guard gives a low whistle.  "I see.  No wonder," he spots one of Rey's shirt buttons and hands it to him.  "Curtis... don't fight them next time.  You'll just get yourself killed."

"What the hell's goin' on here?  What happened to you?" the head guard asks rudely, raking eyes up and down Rey with a smirk.

"Rico was trying to have a party with him.  What happened to you?"

"What?"

"Any particular reason you weren't here, Johnson?"

"Paperwork."

"Any idea how Rico and his posse got past your post without you noticing them?"

"Like I said, paperwork," Johnson says, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Right," the other guard mutters in disgust.  "Well, let's do count-up and then I'm gonna go take Rico and his three stooges down to the Hole-"

"Nah, the Hole's full 'cause of the search.  Just tell 'em not to do it again," Johnson says indifferently.

===

Dinner time.  He got to the cafeteria without incident, and he's trying to force down sticky tasteless pasta and greasy vegetable soup.  It's not easy - the food is close to inedible, and his stomach feels like lead.  And he knows that after dinner there's the walk back to the block, past the stairs again, and then another hour till lights out.

Tim and Snapple are talking around him, giving him space.  He's just trying to keep his breathing steady and keep from shaking, blanking his mind and trying to battle down terror.  He can deal with this.  He can deal with this.

His nails scraped against the concrete floor during the attack and one of them is broken.  He goes to chew off the broken bit, then notices blood under the nail.  From him or from one of them?  He knows they're going to come after him again, most probably in the next couple of hours.  Maybe if anybody bothers to do a rape kit, that blood'll help identify one of his assailants.

There's probably fingerprints on his clothes too, he remembers his shirt being ripped open, hands grabbing at him.  The name tag or buttons might keep a partial print or two.  There's probably also stray hairs on his clothing, from Rico at least.  Fibers from their clothes too, but that won't identify anyone - they're all wearing the same fabric.

His own body is a crime scene.

He's seen plenty of rape victims, eyes dulled, bruised, broken.  Blue hospital gowns, bright lights, feet in the stirrups as they cried while some doctor with latex gloves checked them out.  Swabs and samples, clippings, scrapings, pictures.  Even saw a male victim once, a college boy who came in sobbing.  Picked the wrong guy to 'explore his sexuality' with.  Remembers him going pale and blank eyed during the examination, almost catatonic, until trying to get a statement from him was a complete waste of time.

He can't go through that.

He especially can't go through it now, when he knows he could be out any day.

But isn't that more of a reason to not risk his life by cutting?  What if he kills himself, just days away from freedom?  He might die if he cuts.  He just might.

Not fighting Rico is not an option, he knows that now.  Cooperating is the smart thing to do, but he just can't do it.  Will Rico leave him alive if he fights?  That knife that sliced his arm the other day, Rico wasn't just aiming to leave a scar.  He would've ripped his throat open without a second thought.  As an example to anybody who might want to defy him in the future.

And assuming Rico does let him live... will he survive the aftermath?

Doctors checking him out, having to tell people what happened.  Having to live with it, live with more than just memories of a tongue in his mouth and hands groping him, fumbling at his pants, more than just memories of a hand job that he consented to.

No, he won't survive that.

I'm sorry, Deborah.  I wish I was stronger but I'm not.  I hope I don't die because I think I'm gonna have to cut.

===

It's right after dinner and Tim's in his cell with three books.  He opens one up and it's not actually a book, it just looks like it, but inside there's a bottle of clear liquid.  "Scuttlebutt is Rico's pissed off as hell so he's paid some guards to look the other way until lights out.  You don't have a lot of time.  Here's the brew.  Drink up, it's pure, you won't feel a thing.  I'll yell for help as soon as you do it."

He reaches into the back of his shirt, slides out a blade, a sharpened piece of metal, hands it over.  He stands between Rey and the outside of the cell, blocking the view of the guards.  If either of them is caught with alcohol or a blade, it's a pretty serious offence, even though everybody knows that brew and shivs are as common as cockroaches in here.  Rey knows Tim's putting himself at risk by providing them to him.

Tim puts his hand on Rey's shoulder and waits until Rey looks at him.  "You sure you wanna do this?"

Rey nods grimly.

"Rey, just so you know, he - he probably won't kill you.  Not after the basketball game.  That's not how Rico works.  He'll turn you out and rough you up really bad, might cut you up a bit too, but he'll try and keep you alive to teach you a lesson."

I don't wanna learn whatever he's teaching, Rey thinks. He has a vivid image in his mind of the pictures and the ME's report of what Rico Gonzalez did to his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend.

"Look, I heard what he said about - about sharing you around.  That means he probably won't kill you.  He won't even cut your face-"

"What, so he can charge more for me?"

Tim swallows hard and nods.  His eyes are dead serious.  "If you're gonna do this because you're afraid he'll kill you otherwise... you might stand a better chance surviving him than surviving cutting."

Rey looks away for a moment.  What Tim's talking about drove Tim to commit murder.  "What would you do?" he asks quietly, hearing the tremor in his voice.  Tim gazes at him compassionately for a moment, then breaks eye contact.

"I'd cut."

Rey nods again.  It was a rhetorical question anyway.  He takes a cautious pull from the bottle and almost gags at the foul taste.  Tim chuckles, "Sorry, I shoulda warned you.  It's uh, fermented zucchini, from a friend of mine at the greenhouse."  Burning all the way down.  He swallows again, tests the blade with his thumb.  It's damn sharp.  Tim suddenly draws in his breath, seeing Rico coming up the stairs.  "You're outta time."

Rico, coming towards him.  Same three stooges with him.  The shiv is very, very sharp.

He could use it to kill Rico.  He'd probably die in the process, but it would sure feel good to take Rico down with him.

"Rey, if you're gonna do it, do it now."

He hesitates.  What if he kills Rico?  It would be self-defense.  But nobody would believe that, and he'd be stuck here forever.  And he would be guilty of ending a human life, never mind that it's a worthless one.

Would letting Rico use him really be worse than killing or dying?

He can feel his breath in his throat, heart racing faster and faster.

Yes, it would.  Selfish for him to think so when he's got a family to live for, but it really would.  He'd rather kill or die.  After being here for less than a week, going through what he's gone through, seeing Tim and Snapple and the life they live, he really would rather kill or die.

"Now, Rey!"  Rico's damn close, near the entrance to the cell, and he's spotted the shiv.  The shiv that's either going into Rey's flesh or Rico's.

I'm sorry, Deborah.

Deep breath to brace against the pain, stare straight at Rico, slash.  Spurt of blood from the left wrist, toss the knife into the left hand before it goes numb, slash again.  Another gush of blood.  Stunning pain.  Blood spurting onto his face, into his eyes.  Blinded by his own blood, he tries to wipe off his eyes on his arm.

"Jesus!  GUARD!!"  Tim's voice sounds properly panicked, grabbing at one of his wrists to stop the flow.  Glimpse of Rico looking annoyed, small droplets of blood across his cheek.

Guards race towards him.  Somebody's yelling "Cutter!"  Inmates whooping, cheering, always amused when there's a show going on, anything to break the monotony.  Can't see, too much blood in his eyes.  Holding one wrist, trying to stop the blood, knees going weak, there's a guard, grabbing him with hastily gloved hands, somebody pushing him onto a stretcher - oh good, he won't have to walk to the infirmary this time.  Starting to feel faint on the stretcher, he hopes he didn't cut too deep - wouldn't it be ironic if he did, and he killed himself now of all times?  After all those times he wished he could, how much of a kick in the ass would that be, to kill himself now that he doesn't really want to die.  God has one hell of a sense of humour.

Lights hurting him, he can't really see, blood in his eyes.

"Stupid son of a bitch, nobody, NOBODY cuts on my cellblock!"  Sudden pain as a guard slaps him.

"Johnson!  Lay off!" Another guard's voice, the guard who pulled him off the floor after Rico was gone.

Another slap, disorienting him even further.  He lets go of his wrist, fresh spurt of blood, somebody's holding his arm too tightly, god it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and he's bleeding out, goddamn it, why is this guy holding his arm, he needs to stop the flow - tries to struggle, more swearing, another slap, when the hell are they gonna get to the infirmary?

"Fucking pussy!" slap "Don't you EVER cut on my cellblock again!"

"Johnson!!  He didn't have a choice, you asshole, Rico was after him and you weren't doing a goddamn thing!"

Finally, someone's calling  "Bleeder!  Bad one!"

Scurrying of orderlies, guards and nurses, he's being transferred onto a gurney and two orderlies are grabbing at his wrists to stop the flow.  There's a brief scuffle of people around him, he can't really follow, still can't see much, just knows his arms are being held fast and he tries to move, panicking.  Don't know what's going on, too many people grabbing at him, just like under the stairwell, just like on the floor of his cell, gotta get outta here - slap again, then somebody's grabbing his leg - some sort of restraint, oh shit, no, don't, he starts to struggle with everything he has left, everything getting confused, his other leg is in restraints too, too much noise, people shouting instructions, "Hold him down!" and his own voice yelling "Let me go!! Let me go!! NO!!  LET ME GO!!" and now his left hand is restrained, oh, no, please, no, don't, tied down and helpless and bleeding out, oh don't, right hand tied down too, no, no, no, let me go, LET ME GO, he's screaming and trying to get away and now he can't move at all, there's even a strap across his chest and he can't breathe, Mary Mother of God help me, Jesus help me, and the doctor's stitching him again, this is familiar, the sharp jabs made more horrifying by the fact that he can't get away, can't get away, and they haven't even started to anesthetize him this time, stab near his shoulder, somebody's just stuck him with a needle, and another one, screaming, desperate, no please let me go, stop, let me go, God, please... blood everywhere - the smell of it making him gag.  Mother Mary, help me please... stitches, restraints, body growing tired.  Panic starting to fade... everything getting muggy.  Dark.  Dark and red.

Sounds muffled.  Burning with every stitch, but strange, like it's happening to somebody else.  Staring at the needle going in and out of his wrist

Blood, rubs his fingers against each other and they're sticky

Dark.  Agony from the restraints Jesus Christ help me

Guard covered in blood, wearily peeling off red gloves

Dark.  Tired.  God in Heaven please

Wedding ring covered in blood

Warm

Smell of blood

===

_Day 8  
Tuesday, December 30_

_Everything so confused.  Who's watching Tania?_

Where is he?

Thirsty... water... throat hurts...

Somebody giving him a straw to sip from... water... no don't take it away I'm not done...

Thirsty...

===

_Rico's voice - shit!  He's gotta get outta here, he can't move one arm, sharp pain from the other as he tries to get away, Rico laughing, You better relax, baby, I'm gonna enjoy this_

"Shit!  Grab him!" a sharp voice says, sounds familiar somehow, "Goddamn it Curtis, you pulled the IV out, stay still - Stephens, c'mere, hold him down, he's - Curtis!!  Stop that!!"  He doesn't understand what they want him to do, all he knows is

_Rico's somewhere around and he's gotta get away but they're saying Hold him down and somebody's screaming and he's trying to fight his way out from under the stairwell and off the floor of his cell, the other inmates peering through the bars_

"Curtis!  Stop it!!  Stephens, get the restraints again, he's totally out of it, he's gonna hurt himself.  What the hell's the matter with him?"

"I think he thinks Rico Gonzalez is here."

"Oh.  Curtis, he's not here," the sharp voice is trying to tell him, more gently this time.  If only he could figure out what the hell that means.

"Put him out again.  You got it?"

Sharp jab, fade away.

===

_Rey, if you're gonna do it, do it now._

_Say gracias, chico._

_Whattaya think, you wanna put on a show? You wanna be everybody's honey tonight?_

_Mother of God, help me, please._

_Deborah I'm sorry I cheated on you._

_Rey, your mother..._

_She's dead, Daddy._

_Your mother... she didn't want to burden you any further.  She didn't know how else to help you._

_Suicide is contrary to love for the living God._

_And nothing but the truth, so help you God?_

_I do._

_Did you in fact commit this crime?_

_Yes I did._

_You didn't fail the Church, Rey.  The Church failed you.  Or rather, I failed you._

_Betcha wish you had your handcuffs now, huh Detective Curtis?_

_A little slower this time, baby, take your time, let's enjoy this._

_We can take this nice and slow or quick and real, real painful._

_Face to face like you and your wife._

_Tongue in his mouth... gagging..._

"Stephens, he's throwing up again."

"OK, buddy, it's OK.  Shh, shh, you're OK, you're in the infirmary, you're safe, OK?  I'm gonna release your left arm, but you got an IV in, so you gotta keep still, OK?  Don't pull it out.  Hey, hey, relax, I'm not gonna hurt you, I have to take this gown off and get you a clean one.  Relax, relax, Curtis - Curtis!  Fucking calm down, wouldja?  I'm not gonna hurt you.  Relax - no, it's OK, shh, I'm not touching you, relax, relax.  Nurse!"

"He's not gonna let me do this.  He's too freaked out.  You gotta snow him again."

Distant mumble.

"Well look at him for god's sake, addiction isn't exactly your biggest concern right now, is it?  He's dehydrated and scared.  Shh, shh, it's OK, buddy - just put him out for crying out loud, then I can clean him up again without him thinking I'm Rico and you can give him his IV without him pulling it out."

Mumble.  Sharp jab.  "How do you get away with talking to her like that?"  Another nurse's voice, talking to Stephens.  "She'd can my ass, and she'd send any other con to the Hole.  You, though... she just nods and smiles."

Everything fading.

===

_Do you still love me?_

_And this is how we're going to spend our last night together?  Tearing each other to pieces?_

_Why not?!  We're good at it, we've had lots of practice!!_

_We can hear you all the way down the stairs._

_Daddy, don't... I won't get in trouble any more, please don't... I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was so bad, please don't go away Daddy_

_Rey, we're done talking.  We know what we have to do._

_Which makes this is our last night together.  Let's not talk any more._

"Curtis?  You OK, buddy?"

"Deb'ra."

"Who's Debra?"

"Wife."  She's not here.  Can't think about her.  She's not here.  Hurts too much to think about her.  Shreds him to pieces inside.

"Sh, it's OK," somebody's patting his arm.

"How's he doing?"  There's the sharp voice again.  He opens his eyes.  Everything's blurry and way too bright.  Closed is better.

"He's awake, sort of.  In and out."

"He shouldn't be."

"He's not hurting himself."

"Yeah, but he pulled the IV out last time."

"Not doing it now, though."

"Looks upset."

"Just a little down.  I'm gonna sit with him a bit.  He's not freaking out."  Silence.  "Oh, you were right, Debra's his wife."

"Thought so.  He's said her name enough times."  Silence.  "OK.  Stay with him a bit and then do the AIDS beds, OK?  Oh, and see if you can give him these - he was supposed to be taking them daily but the scrip took a while to get here from Riker's."

"Yeah, OK."  Pause, small rattle.  Chuckle.  "Oh these are doing a great job, eh?"

"He was off them for a few days.  Anyway, the doc upped the dosage."

"Oh come on I was kidding.  Nobody slashes 'cause they're off their happy pills for a couple days."

"You got an MD now?"

"No, just a brain.  Look, there's not a pill in the world gonna make rape OK."

"There wasn't any evidence of sexual trauma.  We did a full workup when he came in."

"Right.  And it's just a coincidence that Rico Gonzalez happened to be next to his cell when he cut."

Long pause.  Heavy sigh, tired voice.  "I know.  Nothing we can do about it though.  Just give him his meds."

"Fine."  Footsteps walking away.  Silence.  "Curtis, you awake?"

"Mm."

Silence.  "What's wrong?" gentle voice.

"Miss 'er."

"Your wife?"

"Hurts."

Sigh.  "I know, buddy."

"Hurts."

"I know."

"She's gone."

"It's OK, you'll see her again," comforting hand on his shoulder.

"No.  She's gone."

"Shh, shh.  It's OK, buddy."

"All gone.  Ev'ryone."  Wife gone, kids gone, everybody all gone.

"Shh.  Here.  Take these."  Ugh, bitter bitter pills, then cool water to wash them down.  "Why don't you go back to sleep."

Good idea.  Sleep.

===

"OK, Curtis, time for lunch."  Some disgusting green stuff being shoved at him, he tries to get away but it's right in his face. "Come on, buddy."

Tries to focus his eyes.  Teardrop tattoo.  Gang member.  No it's not.

"Din' you kill a cop?"  It's harder to form thoughts and words than he ever would've imagined.

Small chuckle.  "Yeah, ironic, eh?  Right now, a cop killer's the best friend you've got."

That's pretty funny.  He smiles.

"Good, good, that's the stuff, you're getting your sense of humour back."

"Lennie sez I don' 'ave one."

"Who's Lennie?"

"Par'ner... loong time 'go."  A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.  In another life, when he worked Homicide and Deborah could still walk and they lived in a house in the suburbs, before everything everything everything went straight to Hell.

"Don't have what?"

What?  Oh.  "Sense o' humour..." Lennie's a funny guy too... oh man, so tired.  He closes his eyes.

"No, no, come on, Curtis, stay with me, buddy, you gotta eat."

"Lennie sez tha' too..."

Chokes down more of the disgusting green crap that keeps getting spooned into his mouth no matter how much he tries to turn his head away.  Nothing feels bad though, that's good.  Everything's kinda floaty.  That's actually pretty nice.

"OK, I'm done.  He's done.  He's zoning out on me."

"How much did he eat?"

"Not a lot.  Enough though."

"Think we oughtta snow him again?"

"Nah, see how he does.  He seems a bit more with it."

"Curtis."  Fingers snapping in front of his face.  "Curtis.  Do you know where you are?"

"... Hell?"

Chuckle.  "Yeah, I suppose so.  Do you know what part of Hell you're in?"

"'firm'ry."

"What month is it?"

Uh... "N... D'cemmer?"

"Good.  Who am I?"  Opens his eyes wearily.  Not so blurry any more.  Still too bright.

"Don' 'member yer name.  Nurse somethin'."  She told him to clean his works and no hooking on the ward.  "Y'said don' shoot th' bleach."

She trades a smile with Stephens.  "Good enough.  Do you know why you're here?"

Cut himself.  To get in here.  No, he can't tell her that.  "Tried... tried ta kill m'self."

"You remember why?"

"Gonzalez."

"What did Gonzalez do?"  Stephens asks gently.  He turns his head away.  "Curtis?"  He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to think about it.  "Did he rape you?"

"Nah."

"Did he try to?" the nurse asks.

Oh hell, go away and stop asking.  "Yeah."  Why's she wanna know anyway?  Not like anybody's gonna do anything about it.  "Go 'way.  Lea' me alone."

"There he is, your very own cutter."  A guard.  Some guards aren't very nice around here.

"He still fucked up?"  Who's that?  Another guard.  Ugly voice.

"He's doing better," the sharp nurse's voice is cool.

"Son of a bitch.  You think it was bad before, when I get you back on the block you'll wish you'd cut deeper."

Frogs and toads and snakes.

"Officer, this isn't exactly the best time to-"

"Nobody cuts on my block."  Fuck him.  Sick bastard.  Looked the other way so Rico and his pals could have a go at him.

"Fuckyou."

"Curtis-" Stephens says softly.

"Don't you mouth off at him," the other guard's voice.  "You dis one of us, you're dissing all of us."

"Fuckyou too then."

"Not a good move pissing off the guard who's doing your suicide watch, pal.  I just might forget to watch you."

"Go t'hell."

"Come on, guys, leave him alone," the sharp nurse's voice is a lot more gentle than theirs.

"Give him some more," the doctor's voice says.  Babble of medical terms.  "Take him out again."

Jab.  Ow.  Sleep.

===

_You better pray that God can help you, 'cause nobody else here will._

_Kneel down, Detective...suck me off..._

_Betcha wish you had your handcuffs, huh Detective?_

_This is gonna hurt a lot and I'm gonna enjoy every minute of it_

_Fucking pussy!  Don't you EVER cut on my cellblock again!_

_Rey... it's not your fault.  But we can't go on like this._

_I - I want a divorce._

_NO!_

_You can't, you can't take care of all of us.  It's too much to ask anybody to - you've tried but you can't, please, I'm not even... I'm not even really your wife any more... please, this is better for everybody..._

_Reynaldo, you're so tired._

_I'm fine, Mama.  Did you go to your doctor's appointment?_

_He said I'm doing fine.  Don't worry about me._

_Suicide is contrary to love for the living God._

_Do you still love me?_

_Well you know I wanted to be the Boss but I wasn't from Jersey and I couldn't carry a tune._

_Still cute._

_... and married._

_So?_

_You just warm a barstool or do you move too, handsome?_

_And what's your solution?  Getting drunk and doing drugs and fucking strangers?_

_It's not that different, Rey.  Men, women - they're all the same._

_You know the old saying, if rape is inevitable, just lie back and enjoy it._

_I don't wanna get used to this, Tim._

_You'll have to._

_I'm sorry, Deborah._

Footsteps approaching.  Sound of a wheelchair.  Stop by the bed.  Who's that?

Jack.  And Deborah.  Deborah?

"Hi hon," he reaches for her.  Ow, damned IV.  Deborah.  Nice.  Must be a hallucination.  Nice things don't happen here.

Her hand.  It's warm.  Hell of a hallucination.  Thank you God.  She can't really be here, but he'll take what he can get.

"Watcha doin' here?"

"We were told that you tried to commit suicide," Jack's voice.

Suicide.  Did he?  Oh right.  "Mm," OK. Wake up.  Maybe this is for real.  "C'n anybody hear us?" No, apparently. "That's what I told 'em, but I jus' did it to get in here.  Head guard in my cellblock reeally hates ex-cops.  He been turnin' a blind eye ta everythin'," Johnson, that's the guy's name.  What happened to you?  Looking him up and down with a smirk on his face.  Paperwork.  Right.

"What happened yesterday?"  Who's that?  Jack again.

"Gonzalez.  Tried ta fuck me again."  That's what happened, right?  Or was that also a nightmare.  Did that happen again here in the infirmary?  No.  But there was a guard.  Or something.  Rico came close, but didn't quite get him.  But he would've.  And he might have killed him.  "I cut m' wrists so th' guards would havta bring me inta th'nfirm'ry."

Oh, man, this is tiring.  He's not used to talking.  Feels like he just climbed a mountain.  Oh they better not tell.  If they tell he'll be sent back to the cellblock.  So don't tell.  Why not though?  "I don' wanna be that guy's girlfrien', I don' think he's much inta romance," he thinks of Rico giving anybody flowers and it's a pretty funny image.  What did Tim say?  Degradation.  That's what Rico's into.  _Face to face just like you and your wife._  Making you feel so filthy you'd be better off dead.  No flowers.

"Where did you get the blade?"  What blade?  Oh.  From Tim.

"Oh, there's a guy in here use' ta be a cop too, in Baltimore," Baltimore, that's a loong word.  "I worked with 'im a few years back.  He's done it a few times - cuttin' himself.  Gave me 'is shiv.  Nice guy."  Tim's a nice guy.  And so's Snapple, and so's the cop-killer.  Not everybody here's awful.  Rico Gonzalez, frogs and toads and snakes.  Nobody talks in diamonds and pearls, but Tim and the cop-killer at least don't talk frogs and toads.  And the other guard, the one who helped him off the floor and told Johnson to stop hitting him.  Not so bad.

"How are you feeling?"

How?  Oh wow, pretty good actually.  He hadn't noticed.  "Oh, I'm feelin' nooo pain." Why's that?  Must be the drugs.  Lots of them.  Jabbed so many times he can't even feel it any more.  "They got me drugged t' th' gills with painkillers, an' sedatives, an' aall kindsa shit.  I'm higher'n a kite," he realizes.  Everything's soft, like on pot - when he did a whole hell of a lot of it along with a lot of beer.  Oh wow, he hadn't even noticed how nice it was.  And Jack looks pretty funny... like one of those Keebler elves or something, what're they called, leprechauns.  It's funny.

This is much better than yesterday, and how nice of the leprechaun to point it out.  What was yesterday like?  Oh that was nasty.  Mother Mary help me.  "They ha' me in five-point restraints till th' drugs kicked in.  Tha' hurt," oh man, yes it did.  And there was blood.  Lots of it.  Blood in his eyes.  Ring covered in blood.  Guard covered in blood.  Red gloves.  Deep breath, slash, no time to get drunk so he wouldn't feel it.

It's waay too bright in here.  Close eyes.  Nice to be alive.  It was a good idea, cutting.  Now, anyway.  Not so fun while he was doing it, but it's all worked out OK.  And Deborah's here.  That's nice too.  Better than when he thought of cutting before.  That's kind of interesting.  What's that called?  Irony.  "Kinda ironic, innit?  After aall the times I thoughta slittin' m' wrists ta end my life, when I fin'ly do it, it's ta save it."

Small sound from Deborah.  Why's she look like that?

Oh.

Oh god.  Oh, god, he can't face her and he closes his eyes, turns his face away.  God, he's so ashamed.  She wasn't supposed to know that he wanted to off himself before.  Ever.  He can't keep track of what he's saying out loud and what he's just thinking, and he must've said that out loud.  Oh, and she's gonna be pissed too.  No, please don't.  "Please, please don' be mad at me.  I wanted ta tell you, I jus' din' know how."  No, Deborah, please, don't be mad at me, not right now.  I wanted to tell you so you could help me and hold me and save me and give me a reason to live but you were so sad too and I couldn't do that to you and I was so ashamed and I'm sorry I kept it from you please don't be mad don't go away don't go away.

Tight squeeze of her hand.  "I'm not mad at you, Rey."  Her voice sounds funny.  Like she's choking or something.  And she's talking to Jack, but he can't figure out what he's telling her.  What's she look like right now?

Her eyes... they're sadder than he's ever seen them.  And she's looking at him with all the love he's ever felt for her, only doubled, she's looking at him the way he wished she would for years, like she wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with her, like if she could she'd take him away from here.  After all he's hurt her and let her down and betrayed her, she's looking at him like she loves him as much as he loves her, only more.

But she's so sad.  So sad, and it's making him sad too.  And then she's all blurry, and he's so sorry he's made her sad.  And then she's stroking his cheek and it's like Mother Mary herself is there, comforting him.  And he'd gladly sell his soul if only Deborah could stand up and hold him close.  If only he could feel her arms around him and know that he's gonna be OK.  If only he could touch her face - but he can't even move his hands, one's got an IV and the other's cuffed to the side of the bed.  But at least she's here.  Thank you, God.  I'm OK if she's here.

"Rey... my god..." she chokes.  He's made her sad by coming in here, but there's some reason why he had to do it.  Serena.  His little girl going through this, Rico Gonzalez or Tammy Morisen or somebody like that attacking her, no, that just doesn't bear thinking about.  No way.

"She OK?"

"Yeah, she's OK."

"OK.  Then it's worth it."  And it really is.  He'd do anything to spare her this.  Even if Rico - even if that guard hadn't saved him, and Rico and his friends had taken turns with him with the cellblock watching and cheering, it's still worth it if it saves Serena.  But...

"I miss you though," God, he does.  He doesn't even want to think about how much it hurts when Deborah's not here.  How much it aches that even now that she's here, she can't do more than hold his hand.  He can't feel her arms around him.  And they... they were just getting back together again.  After years of so much pain and distance, they were just getting back together when he had to leave.  And now he's probably never going to hold her again, she really will be as good as dead before he's free.  And no words can contain the sorrow of that.  That the last years they could've been together, they really weren't.  That they only made love a few times, only had eleven impossibly short days together, before he had to leave.  Before they were torn apart again.

Deborah's crying.  She looks so sad.  She looks like she's crying for him.  Why?  "Don' cry hon.  M'okay while you're here."

Jack the leprechaun is saying something, who knows what.  He can't hear Deborah.  Where is she?  Brief panic before he realizes that she's still here, still holding his hand.

"Deb'ra.  Don' go, 'kay?  Don' leave me again."  Christ, he can't take it if she leaves him here.  If she leaves him here, he's gonna die.  He really will.  Especially if Rico comes back.  She can't leave.

"I'm right here.  Jack's here.  You're in the infirmary.  You're safe."

"'Msafe if you're here."  This is OK.  She's here.

Oh god.  What if she leaves and he's sent back to - God, no.  Jack.  Jack can help.  He's got to.  OK, concentrate.  This is important.  Focus.  "Jack, get me inta Seg, please.  I can't... I can't... I can't let Gonzalez..." damn it, how to explain this.  "I thought I could, I thought, it's better'n bein' killed... but I can't, he, he jus'," he's trying, he's really trying, but he can't do what Rico wants him to do, he feels the hatred and rage rise every time and he tries to head it off 'cause anger will kill him and so anger turns to fear and revulsion and he's trying, but even thinking about Rico touching him - oh no, "Gonna throw up-"

This is horrible.  Heaving, again, he's been doing this so much lately.  Can't keep anything down any more.  Repulsive green food that Stephens fed him for lunch - lunch?  breakfast?  what the hell time is it?  coming back up.  Hands grabbing him, brief stab of fear, but it's OK, it's just Jack and some orderly, not Stephens though, too bad.  Nice cop-killer.  Kind of awkward, not being able to support himself because his hands are restrained, but Jack's there making sure at least he doesn't puke on himself.  Oh, and there's a nice wet cloth on his forehead, that helps.

OK, he's done.  Somebody's wiping his face, OW!!  Pulling the bandages and the IV, fuck that hurt.

Water.  That's nice.  Wait.  Where's Deborah.  Oh, please, tell me she didn't just disappear.  Not again.  Deborah?

Her hand.  He can't even see her, but he'd recognize her hand blindfolded a million years from now.  Fifteen years together.  His other half.  Better half.  Thank you, God.

"Deborah.  Please help me."  Save me.  Take me out of here.

"I'm here," she says.  Sweetest words he's ever heard.  Then she's saying more sweet words, can't really follow all of it, taking him out of this hellish place, talking about the kids.

Olivia.  She's so big now, he's so proud of her, such a big girl, responsible, kind... everything he could have hoped for when she was born, before she was born, when he and Deborah conceived her out of their love for one another.

Serena.  She's doing OK, as much as he's hurt her and failed her, she's doing OK, and she's not in a place like this.  A place like this would snuff out her fire and her spirit, and letting that happen would be an unforgivable sin.

Isabel.  So fragile, such a good thing Olivia takes care of her, because he can't protect her from their lousy life.  And she's still sweet, sensitive, innocent.

And Tania.  Other people see her as damaged.  So joyous though, such pure emotion, a miracle, a gift from God just like her sisters.  Deborah talking about all of their daughters, the children they made together, the children God gave to them.

And it's OK.  He can deal with the pain and degradation of this place, as long as Deborah's still here.  Even though she's just a voice, just a hand holding his and cool fingers stroking his forehead, talking about their girls, telling him stories.  This is OK.  This is a small piece of Heaven, right in this corner of Hell.  Diamonds and pearls and rubies, falling from her lips.

Diamonds and pearls and rubies

Diamonds and pearls and rubies

"We're going to have to go soon, Rey.  Visiting hours are almost over."

Oh no.  "Don' go," he says to Deborah, but he can tell that she's going to.  Not again. "How come I keep losin' you, Deb'ra?"  She doesn't know what he means.  She's left him so many times, so many times and it's been so hard every time but this is going to be the worst, because now he won't have anything left after she leaves.  No job, no friends, no kids, nothing left to try to fill in the aching void.  "Hate losin' you.  It's like I lose part of me.  Walk aroun' like I got no soul when you're not there."  Please, don't go.

"OK, visiting hour's over boys and girls.  Come on, out you go."  That's the guard.

OK, maybe he can do something to delay this.  She can't leave yet.  Hold on tight, please don't let go.  Maybe the guard can let her stay just a bit longer, just a bit longer, she just got here.  Where's the guard?

"Please, jus' letter stay a li'l bit longer, 'kay?"

"Get the hell outta here."

OK, be respectful, you're just an inmate, he's got all the power and you need him to do something for you.  Pretty please.  "C'mon, man, I won' mouth off atcha any more, jus' let 'er stay, please..."

No, he's not listening.  Goddamn guard.  Pulling her away, hold on tight, don't let go, don't let go, sharp pain OW!! and his hand lets go no matter how hard he's trying to hold on, and then she's going.  The sun's going out.  Please, please, who cares if this is begging, please, please, who cares about pride, "C'mon, man, let 'er stay, she's all I got, _please_..."

Guard taking her away.  There she goes.  She was all he had left, and now she's gone.  Farther and farther leaving him alone in this miserable place, nothing left, just pain and fear and loneliness so deep there's no bottom to it.  She's gone.

Sleep.


	5. Home

**CHAPTER V: HOME ******

_Day 9_

_Wednesday, December 31_

Lying here hour after hour.  No more drugs, the doctor doesn't want him addicted, but it sure would've been nice if they'd kept him on whatever he was getting yesterday.  Addiction be damned.

Nothing to do in this damn place except wish he were dead.  Prison suicide watch - that means they watch while you commit suicide, Lennie said that once.  His watch would probably like that.  Except for one guard who was on shift last night, who talked to him for a while.  He couldn't follow much because he was still a bit drugged, but the guy seemed nice enough.  Told Rey where he'd be in case he needed anything.  Said something about a shrink coming to see him the day after tomorrow.  Apparently today is New Year's Eve.  No regular staff until January 2.

Salar's yacking again.  Somebody shut him up, please.

At least if he was dead he wouldn't feel so much pain, wouldn't have to work so hard to not think about how much he misses his wife and children.  How desperately he wants all of this to end.  How much he now wishes he'd cut deeper and actually meant to kill himself.  He's willing to die for his family, but he's no longer willing to live for them - not here, and not like this.

Chen's being released and sent back to his block.  No more yellow jello.

That Judge... she's not gonna let him out.  It's just Father Morelli's word she's got to go on.  She's not gonna let him out.  He's here for six years at least - more, if he can't make parole.  With Rico.  Without Deborah and their girls.

Six years.  With Rico Gonzalez.

He won't make it.  He doesn't want to.

My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me, Christ said on the cross.  Even Christ felt the loss of God's love, felt despair.  He thought he'd felt it before too in the last few years, but never as bad as this.

He's asked for painkillers so many times.  No, you don't need them, he's told.

Sleeping meds, then.  Sedatives.  Anything.

No, you don't need them.

Anything, anything, legal or illegal, to take him out of here.  There's no point asking the staff, but the orderlies might be another story.  Maybe at the next meal.  There's good inmate thinking - drug it all away.  He was already doing it even before he came in, but if he had the chance now he sure wouldn't stop at pot.

You used to be a cop, he had reminded Tim.  Emphasis on the 'used to be', Tim had answered.

When it gets really bad, he thinks of Deborah's voice and that gets him through for a little bit.  He can't do it too much though, because inevitably that turns into a hopeless aching longing to hear her voice for real, not just in his head.

An inmate is brought in sobbing hysterically - the young blond he came in with.  He's been gang-raped, no surprise there.  Nurses handle him impersonally, set a suicide watch for him too, and sedate him out of his agony.

"Two watches at once," the guard grumbles, "They don't pay me enough.  Goddamn paperwork."  He takes a seat next to Rey's bed and starts to fill in a report.

"Both pillow biters?" asks one of the guards who brought the blond in.

"Yeah, probably," answers the infirmary guard absently, writing quickly.  "That one's a cutter too," he jerks his head towards Rey.  Pillow biter, a prison term for rape victim.  Biting down on a pillow to keep from crying out as they're brutalized.

"That's the cutter from Block H?" the other guard glances at Rey curiously.  Like a museum specimen, not a human being.  He's awake and no longer drugged into incomprehension, but he might as well be a piece of furniture as the guards continue to talk over him.  "I heard Johnson was ripshit.  He'll be filling out paperwork on that one till the cows come home.  So much for his promotion," the two guards share a derisive laugh.

"Yeah, and now he's got blondie here, another Block H success story," the infirmary guard comments.

"That kid better get himself a Daddy real fast," the other guard nods towards the unconscious blond, chuckling humourlessly.  "He ain't doing real good as a party favour."

"Yeah, well the other one has a Daddy," the infirmary guard says, "I heard he dissed him, and here he is.  Guess he didn't like gettin' in touch with his feminine side," he chuckles, still writing.  "Bet he's in for a real romantic homecoming when he goes back."

"He's Rico's boy though, huh?" The infirmary guard grunts a confirmation.  "That's not a lot better'n being block-candy.  Jeez, somebody oughtta do something about that sicko.  Ain't this the third or fourth punk he's landed in here?"

"Sure, somebody oughtta do something.  You gonna do the paperwork on it?"  The other guard shrugs, conceding the point.  "Besides," the infirmary guard adds, "You couldn't prove he's any worse'n anybody else.  He just plays a little rough and messes with their heads is all, it's not like he's cuttin' off arms or nothin'."

God, please, if You're there at all... make this end.  I've had enough.

Let me die, please, let me die.

Forgive me, forgive my selfish weakness for not wanting to stay alive for the sake of the family You entrusted me with.  Forgive me.  I can't.  Forgive me for not being able to bear the cross You gave me.  You never give us more than we can bear, if we just have enough faith.  Forgive me for my lack of faith.

Forgive my sins and let me die.

Forgive my sins against my wife, my children.  Forgive me for hurting them so many times, sinning against them in so many ways, being willing to hurt them again just to spare myself this.

Forgive me for causing my mother's death, for being so weak that she took her own life rather than add to my burdens.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all my failures.

O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who are all-good and deserving of all my love.

Forgive me for not even being able to finish the Act of Contrition because I can't firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more.  Suicide is a sin that I would commit right now if only I could.  I can't live like this.  Forgive me, please, have mercy on me and let me die.

Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever.

Deliver me from this.  Have mercy on me.  For once, hear my prayers.  Let me die.

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.  Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

And let that hour come soon.

Please let me die.

===

Hours later, Jack and Lennie walk into the infirmary and despite Jack's warning, Lennie draws his breath in sharply at the sight of Rey on the bed.  He looks awful, tortured, pale, unshaven, dark shadows under his closed eyes.

"Rey."

Rey opens his eyes.  Lennie.  Jack.  What are they doing in Hell?

"The Judge made her ruling.  She set aside the verdict," Jack informs him.

That doesn't make sense.

"What's that mean?"

"You're free to go," Lennie says gently.

That doesn't make sense either.  "I'm free to go?" he repeats.

"Yeah," Lennie nods.  Free to go.  It's like they're talking a foreign language.  Besides, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

"There gonna be another trial?"

"No," Jack smiles.  "You've been declared not guilty.  Silcox says he won't appeal."

Not guilty.  Hold on.  "What about Serena?"

"No charges are being laid against her.  Your mother's death has been ruled a suicide."

What other catch could there be?

None.

This is... what should he feel about it?  What does he feel?  Numb, mostly.  Like it isn't really real.  He closes his eyes.

"It's over?"

"Yeah.  It's over," Lennie tells him.

That means... that means he can be with his family again.  With Deborah and the girls.  "Where's Deborah?" he finally asks.

"She's waiting for you at home.  We need to get some paperwork done here, get the infirmary to give you some prescriptions for the pain and for that forearm cut - it looks like it got a bit infected.  Then they'll give you back your personal effects and release you," Jack explains.

"She gonna be there when I get home?"  Not just a voice in his head, not just the memory of her that hurts as much as it heals.

"Yeah.  So will your kids," Lennie adds.

"She gonna stay this time?"

There's a brief silence.  "I think that's a fair bet," Jack says, his voice very low.

They're quiet for a moment, giving Rey time to process what's going on.  He's emotionally numb, too exhausted and in too much physical pain to really feel much else.  Finally he opens his eyes, indicating that he's with them again.

"You need to sign this," Jack shows him a piece of paper.  Rey moves his right hand, forgetting it's still attached to the bedrail.  Winces.

"I can't."  The cuff's too short to allow enough movement to write.

"OK, I'll get somebody to unlock that," Jack hurries off.

Rey turns onto his right side, the only direction he can turn.  At least he can go on his side now - he was flat on his back for the first 24 hours, an IV in his left hand, the cuff on the right.  Hurt like hell when he forgot and tried to turn either way.  Good thing he was so doped up he wasn't able to feel much discomfort for the first twenty hours or so.

Jack returns with a nurse, who's vehemently protesting his request.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir, not until we get a paper from the Warden saying he's no longer in custody."

"He's been declared not guilty!  I have that paper right here, signed by the Judge!"

"I don't care if the paper says he's been declared to be the second coming of Christ, signed by God, he is in custody until we get a notice from the Warden.  And until we do, he stays in restraints.  That's policy.  This is a maximum security institution," she explains that last slowly, speaking to Jack as if he were a particularly dull child.

"This is ludicrous!  He has to sign these papers, and he can't if he can't even move his hand!"

"Are you seriously gonna give us red tape over this?  Just gimme the key, I'll do it if you're so damn afraid of him," Lennie speaks up.  He's getting pissed off too, his shock at seeing Rey so sickly turning into anger at seeing Rey still handcuffed to the bed like a common criminal.  It was hard enough to take having his ex-partner treated like some lowlife perp before, when Rey was legitimately an inmate, convicted by his own words in a court of law.  It's intolerable watching him be treated like a dangerous animal that needs to be tied up when he's already been cleared of the crime.  Especially when he doesn't look like he can even stand up, let alone pose any kind of threat to anybody.

Rey closes his eyes, wishing everybody would just stop arguing.  This is giving him a headache.

"You don't have the authority, sir-" the nurse begins.

"I'm a cop.  I deal with real criminals and most of them are a little livelier than this.  And I've got insurance, I'll take the risk," Lennie says sarcastically.  "Gimme the damn key."

"Sir, it's not just our safety we have to be concerned about," the doctor has now joined the fray, "He's on suicide watch and he's under our care.  We can't release him, we'd be liable for-"

"We're all right here!" Lennie exclaims, exasperated, "Who do you think he is, Houdini?  Think he's gonna try anything with four of us standing right next to him?  Would you just unlock this damn thing?"

"His guard is doing a walkabout and under no circumstances is an inmate to be unrestrained without a guard right next to him while on watch in the infirmary.  The regulations are quite clear on that," the nurse stands her ground.

"So how is he supposed to sign the papers I need to take to the Warden to get him officially released?" Jack demands.

"Oh for god's sake," mutters Rey, not bothering to open his eyes, "Why don't you just cuff my left hand, release my right, let me sign the damn thing, then everybody's happy."  He can't believe that in a roomful of people, he, still groggy from sedatives and blood loss, is the only one who seems capable of figuring out something so damn simple.

There's a brief silence.

"He shouldn't be restrained at all," begins Jack, and the doctor draws a breath to argue with him again.

Rey wearily interrupts before they can go at it again.  "Jack, save your breath, I don't give a damn.  If I have to spend a couple more hours locked to the bed, who cares.  Just let me sign the damn paper."

The nurse nods reluctantly, sure that there must be something wrong with Rey's solution, and moves forward to change the cuffs.  Rey signs and turns onto his left side, closing his eyes again.  He's so tired, and his arms and ribs hurt so much...

Lennie hears his low gasp of pain as he rolls over, and looks at him, concerned.  He settles into a chair next to the bed while Jack goes to find the Warden.

"They not giving you anything for the pain?"

"I mighta been on morphine or something yesterday, but they don't like to give too much 'cause it's addictive.  They cut back as soon as they can," Rey says weakly, eyes closed.

"I think you still need whatever they were giving you," Lennie notes beads of sweat on Rey's forehead, mouth set in a grim line.  He looks like he's hurting pretty badly.

"I'll live," he says, his voice toneless.

"This is one hell of a suicide watch.  They leave you alone for hours on end, in pain and cuffed to the bed?"

"I'm a con, remember?  Doesn't matter how I feel.  They just need to keep me alive, not comfortable," he opens his eyes and notices brown something dulling the gold of his wedding ring.  Dried blood.  Guess they didn't clean it all off.  He idly wonders how they cleaned the rest of him - as far as he can remember, he was soaked in blood from head to toe.  Probably sponged him off while he was unconscious.  He doesn't envy the orderly that got that job.

"Still."

"Whatever," Rey mutters, thinking it's a pretty minor thing to get upset over, considering everything else that goes on behind the barbed wire.  "You expect them to hold my hand and sing me lullabies just 'cause I cut myself?"  He pulls the ring off and rubs it, trying to get the blood off.  Lennie suddenly realizes what he's doing and offers to help, going to wash off the ring while Rey rubs at the dried blood on his ring finger.  Ugh.  Must have been drenched in blood.

A while later, Jack comes back.  "OK, everything's signed, we have your clothes-"

"Until he's signed the property releases, he wears State Issue," says the guard.

"That's ridiculous, he's not an inmate any more."

"Until he signs for his personal effects, he is.  He has to go claim his personal items from his cell, then go to Storage, then sign for his effects, then he can change.  Until he does all of that he's still an inmate."

"I don't want anything from my cell," Rey puts in weakly.

"You still have to go look.  Regulations."

"That's ridiculous-" Jack begins.

"No fucking con walks around this institution in civvies," the guard says, jutting out his jaw.

Jack gathers his breath to give him a thorough tirade, but Rey interrupts him again.  "Jack, give it a rest, OK?  I don't care.  Let's just get this over with."

"Fine," Jack concedes, realizing that what he's taking to be affronts to Rey's dignity are really not making much of an impression on Rey.  Which is probably only natural.  Cuffs and prison tans are pretty minor affronts to your dignity compared to repeated sexual assaults and attempted rapes in the full view and with the full approval of the other inmates and even the prison authorities who are supposed to be protecting you.  He bites his tongue, determined to just get Rey out of here as quickly as possible.

The guard approaches and unlocks Rey's left hand, placing a pile of tans on the bed.  Rey sits up slowly, rubbing his wrist and closing his eyes in dizziness.

"Are you OK?" Lennie asks, concerned at his pallor.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.  Gimme a minute."

"OK.  You need help getting dressed?" Jack asks.

"No thanks... just privacy, OK?"  No sense having Lennie see the bruises covering his torso.  They're probably worse now, he doesn't know and doesn't care to look.  Just then the doctor shows up to give him the prescriptions and do a final check-up before releasing him.

There's no curtain around the bed, so Lennie and Jack settle for just leaving the room while Rey is seen by the doctor and changes.  They return about fifteen minutes later to find him lying on the bed, back in the State Issue and exhausted.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, just tired," Rey mutters, eyes closed.

"You look worn out."

"I lost a lotta blood.  And I've been lying down for almost two days.  And they really snowed me with sedatives," Rey swallows, feeling ill.  "Plus they made me take my pills in the morning instead of at night."

"I'm surprised you're awake at all, then," Lennie remembers how Rey's medication wiped him out for days when he first started taking it, and that was when he took it at night.

"Are you going to be able to walk to your cell?" Jack asks.  Rey thinks for a minute, then shakes his head in defeat.

"No.  No way.  It's too far."

"OK.  I'll see if they have a wheelchair," Jack moves off.  Lennie stays next to the bed, gazing at Rey worriedly.  Rey looks like he's been to Hell and back... although Lennie's not too sure about the 'and back' part.

"What?" Rey asks, taking in his frown.

"Jack told me it was bad... he didn't say how bad.  Are you gonna be OK?"

"I dunno, Lennie, I don't have a lot of experience with how long it takes to recover from slitting your wrists.  That's probably a good thing, yeah?" he jokes weakly, and Lennie smiles.

Jack returns with the wheelchair and Lennie helps Rey down off the bed.  As the guard locks Rey to the wheelchair, Jack opens his mouth to protest again.

"Don't even start with me, pal," the guard says irately, "Regs say any time cons are moved from one area to another with only one guard the cuffs go on.  It makes my job more of a pain in the ass than it has to be, but some pencil pusher in Albany decided last year that that was the new policy in Max and so we all gotta do it.  Don't blame me."

"He's just doing his job, Jack," puts in Rey wearily.  "And I told you I don't care, I'm used to it."

"Yeah, listen to your friend.  Besides, he's just getting a taste of his own medicine, right, Detective?  He knew what he was getting into.  If he didn't want this, maybe he mighta thought twice before committing a crime, doncha think?"

"He's been cleared!" Jack exclaims indignantly.

"That just means some legal eagle got him declared not guilty, which ain't the same as innocent.  You know how many of these assholes get declared not guilty every week?" Rey gives Jack a warning look before he can argue and cause any more delays.

Lennie and Jack trade a glance, the same thought occurring to both of them.  Rey's on record now as having been accused and convicted of murder.  The guard isn't the only person who'll assume that the reversal of the verdict is just another example of the legal system failing.  Not guilty isn't the same as innocent.

As they're waiting for the guard to hand in some papers and rejoin them, a young blond patient starts shrieking hoarsely and a nurse quickly approaches and sticks him with a needle.  He falls back into unconsciousness almost immediately.  Lennie sees Rey watching the patient with an unreadable expression on his face, then swallowing hard and crossing himself.

"You know him?"

"Not really, no," Rey says quietly, turning away.  "He was on my block."

"What's he in for?"  Rey shrugs.

A few minutes later, they're on their way out to Block H.  Rey rests his head on his free hand, dizzy and disoriented, thinking that it's a good thing it's the middle of work-up; he wouldn't relish the thought of going back into the block in the middle of social hour.  There'll probably only be a few inmates about, which is fine by him.  He doesn't particularly care to have Jack and Lennie see the fine folks he's been living with for the last week; he really can't take building up any more pity points with these two.  The security situation has done quite enough in that department.

As they move down a corridor, a guard escorting two inmates passes by and one of the inmates stops.  "Curtis.  Hey hey, you're looking a hell of a lot better," he grins widely and Lennie winces.  If this is better, he'd hate to think what Rey looked like before.

"Thanks," Rey smiles up at Stephens.   He didn't think he'd be able to say goodbye to him, since Stephens wasn't on shift at the infirmary today.

"I heard you're outta here."

"Yeah."  It's true - prison gossip does travel faster than light.

"Congratulations.  Some guys have all the luck," Stephens grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth and clears his throat, embarrassed.  "Christ man, I'm sorry.  That's a fucked up thing to say to you after the last couple days."  Rey shrugs, don't worry about it.  "Sorry.  Anyway.  Too bad we won't be on shift together any more - it was nice working with somebody who actually had a work ethic."

"Thanks.  Sorry to leave you short-staffed again."

"Ah, no problem.  I'm used to it.  Hey, I'd shake your hand goodbye, but, uh," he shakes his cuffs and smiles ruefully.  Rey chuckles and rattles his own cuff against the side of the wheelchair.

"Yeah, same here.  It's the thought that counts."

"Isn't this your favourite duty, Piper?" Stephens jokes to Rey's guard.  "Helping a jailbird fly the coop?"

"Nobody likes a smartass, Stephens," Piper says good-naturedly.

"Let's go, gentlemen," Stephens' guard says impatiently and Rey clears his throat.

"Stephens, uh... thanks for... thanks for everything."

"No problem," Stephens smiles warmly.  "You take care of yourself."

"Yeah.  You too," Rey has a thoughtful expression on his face as Stephens and the other inmate are led away.

"Who was that?" Jack asks.

"Stephens, I don't know his first name.  He's an orderly.  I worked with him a couple of shifts."

"You were an orderly?" asks Lennie.  He realizes he hadn't really thought much about how Rey spent his days in prison, other than trying to avoid Rico Gonzalez.

"Yeah, it got me outta the cell block.  I think he also took care of me for most of the time I was out of it."  He seems to remember Stephens' voice through a lot of the haze of the last two days.

"Yeah, he did," Piper confirms.  "He's a pretty good guy, compared to mosta you worthless humps."  Jack starts to bristle and Rey makes a sound in his throat and gives Jack a look.  Please don't start.

"What's he in for?" Lennie asks curiously.  Piper snorts and Rey smiles slightly.

"Killing a cop."

Lennie and Jack glance at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Did he know you were-"

"Everybody knew, Lennie.  It just didn't make any difference to Stephens."  Funny thing, that.  A cop-killer, the highest of the high in the prison hierarchy, and he'd been decent and kind to an ex-cop, pretty much the lowest of the low.

As they arrive at Block H, Jack can't suppress a low 'Oh my god!' at the amount of blood all over Rey's cell.  The floor outside the cell has been mopped, but the mopping very obviously stops at the entrance to the cell.  There's a large stain on the floor and spatters on the walls, bars and bunk beds.  A middle-aged black man looks up in surprise from the bottom bunk as Rey is brought into the cell.

"Harris?  What the hell, why didn't anybody clean this up?" Rey asks, glancing around the cell, profoundly disturbed.  He remembers a lot of blood, but it's something else seeing it like this.

"It's the maid's year off.  How come you're outta the infirmary?  Shouldn't you be on suicide watch?"

"No, I've been released.  You mean you gotta live in the cell like this?"

"I coulda cleaned it myself, but I was waiting for you to come back.  I figured you made the mess, you could clean it up.  And I didn't wanna catch anything."

"I don't have anything to catch.  And I'm sorry, man, I'm leaving.  I'm not gonna be able to clean it up."

"What, you finally going to Seg?"

"No, I'm going home."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah.  My verdict was overturned."

"No shit."  Harris seems only mildly surprised.  "Wow.  Congratulations, I guess."

"Thanks."

"Hey, uh, I'm sorry about... you know, the day that, uh... I just, I mean, I didn't have a choice, man, you know Rico-"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Rey interrupts him quickly, dismissing his apology, carefully keeping his eyes away from the floor near the sink, where Rico and his friends threw him down.  Don't think about it, nothing happened.  Couple of bruises, some buttons torn off.  No big deal.

"I mean, I didn't... it wasn't personal or anything..."

"I know, I know.  Don't worry about it."

"'Cause I'm out in a couple years, and, I mean, you being a cop and all..."

Rey gives a wry chuckle.  "I'm just a desk cop.  Or I was.  I don't even know if I'll get my job back.  I wouldn't hold a grudge anyway."

"OK.  Thanks, man.  Good luck."

"Yeah, thanks."  Rey looks up at his guard.  "OK?  Can we go now?  I really don't want anything from here."

"Toothbrush, hairbrush, pictures, letters?"

"I didn't bring any pictures.  And-" he gestures at the blood-spattered sink, "I don't want that stuff."

"Fine.  Let's go," says Piper, and Rey gives the cell one last look, sickened by the sheer volume of blood he must have spilled there.  As much as he's used to crime scenes, this is pretty disturbing, knowing all of it is his.  Even Lennie, who can stare impassively at the most gruesome things, is looking a little green.  Rey supposes seeing a crime scene is different when you know the victim.  Perpetrator.  Whatever you call a person who slashed himself.

"What did he mean about Rico?" Jack asks.

"Nothing.  Storage next?" Rey asks Piper.  He nods and Rey sighs wearily.  "Good.  It'll be nice being back in street clothes."

"Hey, you know," Piper says helpfully, "you could use an empty conjugal visit suite and take a shower if you want, wash the blood outta your hair.  You did a pretty good number on yourself," he says wryly.  Rey looks back at him curiously.  "I was one of the guards that took you to the infirmary.  My wife's still bitching about the extra laundry you cost me."

"Sorry."

Piper shrugs.  "Eh, that's why they pay me the big bucks," he says dismissively.

===

"Here we go, personal effects shipped in from Riker's for Curtis, R, #65B713, check that you've got all of it, wallet, ID, $13.23-" the clerk at Storage mechanically recites the contents of his bag of personal items, everything he had on his person nine days ago when he walked into the 27th precinct with his daughter and confessed to murder.  Everything except his badge, that is.  He signs for everything and it all goes back into the bag, except for his wallet, which Lennie hangs onto until he's dressed in something with pockets.  Piper unlocks his cuff and it falls to the side, still attached to the wheelchair.

Rey rubs his wrist thoughtfully.  Never gonna wear one of those again.  Hm.  That's good.  He was starting to get used to them, and that bothered the hell out of him.  He looks up and meets Lennie's eyes.  "Look Ma, no handcuffs," he says softly, and Lennie chuckles.  Rey grins briefly, then carefully stands up from the wheelchair.  Whoa.  Take it slowly.  If this is how unsteady Deborah feels every time she stands up, he's amazed at her willpower, making herself do this every day.

===

It's nice being in a shower by himself, not having eyes crawling all over him.  Not that he had to worry about the shower hawks, as they're called here - the first day he wasn't a target and the next few days he was considered off-limits because of Rico's 'protection', so as long as he went when he knew Rico wasn't on the block he was OK.  But it still made his stomach churn, knowing he was being checked out.

The water comes off pink at first - the guard was right, there was still blood in his hair.  It's a little awkward washing around the cuts, even though they've given him plastic wrap to go over the bandages.

He stays there for a while, leaning against the wall weakly, warm water pouring over him, mind blank.  As he gets out he remembers thinking he could stay in a shower for a year and still never feel clean again. He knows all the blood and sweat and filth from the last few days are gone, but... it turns out he was right.  Damn it.

Don't think about it.  It's all over now, and you'll be OK once your mind gets around the fact that you're not an inmate any more.  Look, no more prison tans, there's your own jeans and sweatshirt.  See?  All better now.

===

At last, the front gate of Sing Sing.  Rey's shivering with cold as they wait for the guard to open the gate.  It's early evening, but dark already and freezing outside.  Then the gate's open and he's stepping through it, in his own clothes, no cuffs, no guards, just a regular civilian walking out of Sing Sing Correctional Facility like he walked in and out of so many of these places before, when he was a cop.

Well, not quite regular civilian.  Ex-con.  As he follows Jack and Lennie to the car he idly wonders if that's the correct term for somebody whose verdict was overturned as opposed to somebody who served his sentence.  He wonders if he'll ever be a cop again or if his conviction, however fleeting, will prevent him from being reinstated.  Well, if it does, maybe he can get a job as an orderly.  He wonders why he can't seem to care one way or the other.

Finally, they're pulling out of the Sing Sing parking lot.  Rey leans back in the back seat and asks tiredly, "Do you guys mind if I just sleep till we get to the city?"

"Sure, uh, we're gonna stop at a pharmacy in Ossining, you want us to wake you up for that?" Lennie asks.

"I'd rather just take everything when I get home," Rey yawns.  Home.  Sounds strange.  "Oh, never mind, you'll have to wake me up."

"Why?"

"I don't have any cash to give you, I'll need to use my credit card-"

"Don't worry about it, we'll get it," Jack interrupts him.  "No, it's not charity, the doctor at the infirmary said it's covered anyway.  You were injured while in custody so the State of New York picks up the tab for the antibiotics and all of that."  Rey nods OK.  Sure.  Thanks a bunch, State of New York.  You gonna pick up the pieces of me too?

No, don't think like that.  No pieces to pick up.  You're fine.

Lennie looks in the back mirror and sees Rey watching the institution recede behind them.  It must be disorienting to be coming out of a place so horrible, a place you'd resigned yourself to be in for the next six years, so quickly, he thinks.  Rey's face is completely impassive though.

He can't quite figure Rey out right now.  He didn't know what he expected, but the whole time they've been moving through Sing Sing today Rey's been oddly subdued, fairly unemotional, except for that one flash of a smile when Piper took off the cuffs.  It's partly the blood loss and drugs, but Lennie's still uneasy.  Rey's almost... almost the way he was when Lennie first came into contact with him again, when he was first called to investigate his mother's death.  He seems hollow somehow.

What must it have been like for him to be in such danger that he risked his life and almost bled to death in his cell?  What was it like being in Sing Sing?  Lennie wonders if he'll ever know, if Rey will ever talk about it or if he'll just do his best to forget it.  Wonders if he'll be able to forget it.

In the back seat, Rey watches Sing Sing disappear behind a hill.  All over, he thinks.  Nine days, felt like an eternity.  But it's over.  Bye bye, Sing Sing.

What was that old Johnny Cash song?   Lennie would probably know.  San Quentin.  His dad used to listen to Johnny Cash.  Cash had a lot of prison songs.  _San Quentin, you've been livin' Hell to me..._

He leans his head back on the seat, closes his eyes and starts to drift off immediately.  _San Quentin, what good do you think you do, Do you think that I'll be different when you're through..._

===

"Rey, wake up.  We're here," Lennie's saying, shaking his shoulder.

Here?  Where?  Oh.

He gets out of the car stiffly, everything aching, and barely registers where they are before his daughters are almost knocking him over and hugging him.  Serena hugging him - that hadn't happened in so long, until they were at the precinct and he was going to prison for her.  Nine days ago.  A lifetime ago.

God, that hurts.  They're crushing his bruised ribs, brushing against the burning cuts on his arms.

His sister is wheeling Deborah over, and he approaches her chair and gives her a quick kiss and hug.  It doesn't feel real.  He thought he was never going to see her again, hold her again.  Hold any of them again.  This feels like a dream.

Lisa's holding Tania up to him, since he can't pick her up, and she squeals in delight as he gives her a kiss.  He feels like a ghost among the living.  They start to move inside as the crowd outside starts the countdown.  New Year's Eve, soon to be New Year's Day.  That feels more real than his presence here.

"What happened to your wrist, Daddy?" asks Isabel and Rey carefully keeps his face blank as he pulls his coat sleeve down and dismisses her question.

"Nothing, sweetie.  I'll tell you some other day.  Let's just get inside."  Some other day, right.  Never.

"Hey, Dad, there's firecrackers out there!  Wanna see?" Serena asks.

"Not really, Serena, I'm a little tired."

"Yeah, they look kinda dinky," she says, and tells him, "We had Chinese takeout for dinner!  We saved you leftovers - shrimp and noodles."

"My favourites!" he says, winking at her.  They always used to say that when they got Chinese takeout, although they haven't in years.  Chinese takeout is the equivalent of a splurge for his family now.

He's struck by how much colour there is out here, even at midnight.  Everybody's coat is a different colour, the kids' bright red, blue, green, purple.  The stairwell is a bright yellow that he's always hated, but after days of institutional green and grey walls, tan and white clothing, the riot of colours is both disorienting and comforting.

Finally.  Their floor.  He feels like he just climbed Mount Everest.  Never thought he'd be here again.  He'd said goodbye to all of this.

Back from the dead.

They enter the apartment and he takes off his coat.  God, he's so exhausted...

Fuck!!  Rico's grabbing him and his body is instantly in overdrive and he's gonna kill him and he whips around and throws Rico against the wall, don't TOUCH ME you sick disgusting freak -

Jack.  Jack is across the room from him, winded and holding on to the wall for dear life, where Rico was just moments ago.

"Christ, Jack.  I'm sorry.  Shit," oh my god what did he just do - Rico was here, he was _right here_, he could feel Rico's breath on his neck, _Relax baby, I'm gonna enjoy this_ - "I didn't mean to, I, I thought-" Rico was right here, in this apartment, more real than any of them.  But nobody else can see him, none of them know he's here.  In Rey's mind.  He's trembling, covering his eyes, fighting the urge to kill or scream or cry or throw up.  Rico was here.

"Rey.  Sit down," he can barely hear Deborah's voice through the pounding of his heart as she pulls him down to the couch.

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry," he hides his face in his hands.  Rico's still here.  _You wanna put on a show?  You're gonna wish you were dead before I'm done with you._

Deborah's sitting next to him, pulling on his shoulder, and he can hold her this time.  He can hang on to her and try to get a grip.  Fear and rage coursing through him, Rico Gonzalez you son of a bitch, how can you have left a piece of you still in my head, why am I carrying you with me, how am I ever gonna get away from you?

Deborah.  Deborah's real, holding him in her arms but he doesn't feel safe even there.  Even being in his own apartment, Deborah holding him, doesn't take away the terror and anger.  All it does is keep him from going to the kitchen right now and getting a carving knife and slashing his wrists for real this time, bleed his life out, get away from Rico the only way he can.

He can feel his family gathering around him and he desperately tries to ground himself.  Deborah's here.  She's not an illusion, Rico is.  Lisa's here.  Olivia, Isabel, Tania, Serena.  They're real.  They're here.  Rico isn't.  Calm down.  You're gonna freak them out.  Calm down.

Then Serena says softly, "It's OK Daddy.  It's over.  You're safe now, you're home."

He's safe.  He's home.

Oh God.

He's not.

Suddenly everything he's trying so hard to hold in bursts out and a sob rips from his throat and then there's nothing, nothing he can do to stop the tears.  He's not safe, he's not home, he's still in Sing Sing, still in Hell.  It's not over.  It's not over.

His body's shaking with sobs as he holds on to Deborah, Deborah please help me, please take me out of here, but how can she?  As far as she can tell, he _is_ out.  When he was in the infirmary and she talked to him - or maybe that was a dream - he felt safe.  Now he's out and she's holding him, and he doesn't feel safe at all.  He's not.  Too much roiling through him, every emotion he's felt in the last nine days warring for supremacy, and he's crying harder than he has since he was a little kid and he's helpless to stop, tears soaking Deborah's blouse, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Rico's not here.  He's _not here_.  It's over, you're safe, you're home.

He repeats those words to himself over and over again like a mantra, trying to quell his raging emotions.  You're safe.  You're home.  He will never touch you again.  He will never, ever make you do anything again.

But he did.  He did, and that's with you forever.

He's being battered by a storm of images and emotions, a hurricane sweeping over him, and he's trying to hold fast to the only solid anchor he has but he's still being swept away.

You're safe.  You're home.  Stop crying.

Deborah is real.  Serena and Lisa and Isabel and Tania and Olivia, they're all real.  Rico isn't.  You're back among the living, and you're one of them now.

Deborah's stroking his back as if he was a child, talking to somebody.  Her body's trembling too as she holds him tight.

"No, I'm staying with him," Serena's saying, leaning against him.  "He needs us."

He needs us.  His daughter's saying that.  Anguished sobs are racking his whole body.  He must be scaring them all to no end, it must be terrifying to little girls to see their father break down like this and he can hear Tania whimpering, but he can't pull himself together.  He tries to catch his breath, tries to force himself to settle down, and can't.  Can't turn the switch off, can't clamp down.  He's done it too many times and he has no strength left to do it again.

"Nalo, it's OK," Lisa's saying softly, stroking his hair.  "Take as long as you need.  We're all right here.  We're not going anywhere.  Let it out."

He's just gonna have to ride this out until he's too tired to keep going.  Part of him wishes his family would just leave him alone because it's agonizing to be so helpless before all of them.  At the same time most of him is just grateful to them for being there, helping to ground him, making him feel their presence, reminding him that he really is home.

You're home.  Your wife and sister and daughters are surrounding you.  You're safe.

You weren't, though, says another voice in his mind.  You weren't safe.  That man scared you, used you, hurt you, and enjoyed every minute of it.  Will you ever get rid of him?  Will you ever feel clean again?  Will you ever want to share your body with Deborah again?  Will you ever get past what he did to you and accept what you were forced to do to him... and to yourself?

He drove you to almost kill yourself.  You almost died, you spent the better part of today wishing you were dead, praying to God with all your heart to let you die, and that's with you forever as well.

Six days in Sing Sing.  That was enough to bring down everything you worked so hard to build up.

That's how fragile you are.

But now you're home, he tries to convince himself.  You'll build up again.  Your family's here.  You'll be strong again some day.  Some day.

But will you ever trust that strength?  Will you ever feel confident again, knowing how quickly everything can be swept away?  How little it takes to break you down?

It doesn't matter right now.  All that matters is that you're home.

You're home.

He makes himself focus on Deborah's steadying presence, her hands still rubbing his back, her dampened blouse against his cheek, her hair.  Makes himself push away memories of other hands on his body, violence and violation and terror and degradation.  Just think of Deborah now.  Think of the girls.

The weeping is slowly dying down.  He's so exhausted.  It's so hard to come back.

You're safe.  You're home.  It's over.  It's over.

It's over.  Finally.  He feels spent, drained, but finally calmer.  He hasn't moved, face buried against Deborah's neck this whole time.  She sighs, wiping her eyes.  He stays where he is, still hiding his face from the rest of his family.  They're here.  They're all around him, keeping the demons away.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Are you OK now, Daddy?" Olivia asks gently.  He nods wordlessly.  He feels completely worn out, a little bit numb.  But Rico's gone - for now, at least.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers, resting his head on Deborah's shoulder, his face no longer buried in her hair but not looking at any of them.  Lisa hands him a handkerchief and he wipes his face, breath still shuddering.

"Daddy, it's all right," Isabel says softly.

"Girls, it's time for bed," Lisa says quietly, and one by one his daughters stand and leave, giving him reassuring pats and kisses as they go.

"I'm glad you're home, Daddy," Serena whispers into his ear and hugs him.  Tania reaches up to touch his face, her eyes wide and curious, and he strokes her soft baby cheek, taking comfort in her innocent presence for a moment before Lisa takes her away.

Finally they're all gone and it's just him and Deborah.  Jack and Lennie must have left at some point, he didn't notice.  He lets go of Deborah, shakily sitting back on the couch, biting his lip and looking away from her.  She touches his shoulder gently.

"Rey... are you OK?"

"Y-yeah.  Yeah.  I'm... I'm sorry," his voice is rough as he tries to steady his breathing.  She makes a small noise in her throat and strokes his hair.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I didn't - I didn't mean to..."

"It's OK."  He shakes his head.  It's not OK.  "Rey, you're home.  That's all that really matters.  Anything else, we'll deal with it together."  He hesitates, then nods, willing himself to believe her words.  She gently touches his cheek, and he reluctantly meets her eyes.  They're reddened, weary, full of love and compassion for him.  There's acceptance in those eyes.  They're telling him he doesn't need to feel ashamed of his lack of emotional control, doesn't need to apologize, not to her.  He tries to believe that.

"Can we go to bed?" he asks, not really wanting to talk right now.  She nods, and he gets her ready for bed, thanking God that he's able to do this again.  He can't lift her out of her chair because of his cuts, so Lisa has to help out once she's done with Tania.  As she puts Deborah to bed, Rey gets ready for bed himself, sighing as he looks at all the little bottles with his name on them.  Antibiotics, anti-depressants, prescription pain meds... jeez, he's almost taking more pills than Deborah.  He changes the dressing on his forearm - apparently he ripped a stitch open at some point and the wound is bleeding a bit, and it itches like hell from the infection.

_It's not my name, but it's gonna stare at you for the rest of your life, snaking down, saying I claimed you. Everybody's gonna be able to see it.  Your friends... your _wife...

Lisa touches his shoulder as he exits the washroom, pausing him on his way into the bedroom.

"Nalo... are you all right?"  He nods automatically, eyes turned away from hers.  "Hermano, don't bullshit me.  How are you feeling?"

He shrugs.  She purses her lips, dissatisfied, and he snaps tiredly, "How do you think I feel, Lisa?  I just got outta prison, OK?  I feel lousy."  Lisa steps closer and puts her arms around him.  After a moment, he hugs her back.  His big sister, always wanting to make things better for him, ever since they were kids.  And so often just as powerless as he to do anything about any of the crap that's gone wrong with his life.

He gets into bed next to Deborah.  He remembers that first night in Riker's, when he couldn't go to sleep because she wasn't next to him, how much he ached to hold her.  The nights in Sing Sing, in the top bunk of Cell 651, in the infirmary, when he wouldn't even let himself think about her.  And now she's here.  And the last thing he does before he falls into a deep sleep is take her into his arms.

He's safe.  He's home.  It's over.

===

For Mel, Ozzy, Shawn, Walter B, Walter W, Big Poppa, Ken, Frank P, Jimmy, Dawn, Mandy, Angela, Crystal, Peter P, Peter C, Peter W, Mike, Youngblood, Glasses, Terrell, Dougal, Derek, Ng, Ed, Dead Ed, Chuck, Felipe, Stephen, Courtney, Raja, Trevor, Scott, Daryl, Ryan, Hamed, Dreads, Jose, Kia, Charley, Tranh, Steve, Sarge, Bill P, Lobo, Keith P, Keith, Wayne, Crazy Joe, Robert, Roberto, Smash, Chris, Gary, Diego, Larry, Andre, Sean B, Sean, Mohammed, Nate, Ric, Carl W, Carl, Carlos, Lenny, Tom, John C, Jason, Trevor, Scott, Yvon, Bill, Aubrey, Frank, Ruben, and all the other men I met at Bath and KP who taught me more than I really wanted to know about human depravity and suffering but also taught me a great deal about dignity and endurance.

And especially for Andy and Herbie.


End file.
